


Sticks and Stones, They Break Your Bones

by luxpermanet



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Character Study, F/M, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxpermanet/pseuds/luxpermanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cato has his orders: take a weapon, kill the others and win. He can’t help but wish for everything to have stayed that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collective post of all ten chapters rolled into one. Why? I was an idiot who accidentally deleted her ENTIRE work when the office net was bugging down while posting the new chapter--so yeah, all my hits and comments have basically died with it. Silly me. 
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> This crazy little story is a byproduct of a Tumblr post, a second viewing of Ross’ film and my hyperactive imagination. My friend, Tami Kumar (this is your fault, my little llama!), made this comment about how one can ship Cato and Katniss in the film because of all the eye sex that happens. I ran with this blurb and voila—my first venture into The Hunger Games world of fan fiction. Neither the characters nor the story belong to me. Suzanne Collins is the wizard behind everything and anything; Gary Ross had a bit of a hand in this (the film adaptation), too. The only magic I wield here are the liberties I have taken with both the story and some aspects of the film.

There is a feast laid out before him. Cato can identify some of the dishes on the table; they were luxuries his family could afford because his father was a victor and had good relations with the people of the Capitol. Unlike most of the other tributes that are also en route to the Capitol, Cato is neither hungry nor nervous. He had woken up early that morning, eager to get some training done before the reaping proper. Both his parents had given him full consent to volunteer that year; they knew Cato was more than determined to come home with yet another win for District 2.

 

His fellow tribute, a slight, dark-haired girl named Clove, is worth keeping an eye on, however.

 

Cato has a pretty good idea of what Clove is capable of. She began undergoing special training at around the same time as he did, and he’s aware of just how vicious she is whether she has a knife in her clutches or not. She’ll make an excellent ally for the most part, but he can’t help but feel that he needs to start keeping his distance from her after they weed out the weaklings. Cato knows he’s strong, but he is not an idiot.

 

He is about to reach for a glass of wine—his parents never let him have any—when the automatic door slides open. Their mentors, Brutus and Enobaria, and their escort from the Capitol, Viola, burst into the room, conversing in loud, if slightly agitated tones.

 

“What is it?” Clove asks impatiently. “Has something happened?”

 

“It’s nothing to be personally concerned with, darling,” Viola assures her. “It’s just that we’ve just received word that District 12 has had its very first volunteer in…oh, I don’t know, _ages_!”

 

This piques Cato’s interest. He’s never been to twelve, but based on what he’s seen on television or on what people say, it’s a pretty deplorable place where people starve to death in safety. Cato has never known how it feels to be deprived; District 2 is so loyal to the Capitol that suffering has become something just short of a myth to him.

 

“A volunteer?” he parrots, sneering. “I suppose he realized that dying in the arena would be quicker and more merciful than the slow, agonizing death that starvation brings.”

 

“Honestly, Cato,” Viola sighs. “I do wish you would choose your words more carefully, sometimes. But anyway, to correct your sexist assumptions, the volunteer is the _female_ tribute. She stepped in to save her sister from being reaped—the poor thing’s name was called and she is only twelve—and the Capitol is eating it up like mad because they think it’s such a brave thing to do—”

 

“Which is why you have to show them how tough you are,” Brutus interrupts her. “This girl from twelve is already a threat at this point because she’s given the Capitol the idea that she’s interesting. She’s probably going to be a weakling—none of ‘em from twelve stay alive for long, anyway—but right now, the attention is on her. You’ve got to rake in some kills as soon as the bloodbath begins.”

 

He disappears into the next car, probably looking for something to vent his frustrations out on. Cato met Brutus a few times at the training academy; he’s strong and skilled with a bit of a temper problem. Enobaria, however, is the kind of person he would not wish to get into a tussle with. During her time in the arena, she had ripped out a tribute’s throat with her teeth, and she’d carried that with her after the Games when she had her teeth surgically altered to resemble gold-tipped fangs. So far, Cato has seen very little of her, and he’s rather determined to keep it that way.

 

“I’ll kill her myself,” Clove declares viciously. “She wouldn’t know what hit her! We’ve been training all our lives for this one glorious moment; I’ll bet this little girl from twelve has never even held a knife in her life!”

 

“Down, girl,” Cato chastises her. “We may be stronger than they are, but different people work in different ways. Remember District 12’s Haymitch Abernathy from the last Quarter Quell? He used the force field protecting the arena to defeat a Career Tribute from District 1. He’s their only victor, so he’ll be mentoring the tributes from twelve.”

 

Enobaria smirks at him. “Nice to hear you’ve been doing your research, Cato—it’ll be faster to rip out their spleens if you know what they’re capable of.”

 

“That sounds lovely,” Cato replies dryly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to watch the reapings. Do we already have a copy of the footage onboard?”

 

Viola rises from her seat, looking extremely proud. “But of course, dear! If there’s something the Capitol can do, it’s to have something at your disposal at the snap of a finger. Shall I have it hooked up to the television in your private compartment?”

 

Cato rises from his seat, wineglass still in hand. “Yeah, that would be great. Care to join me, Clove?”

 

“And waste my time watching them shuffle onto the stage with resigned, tearful expressions?” she asks him, sounding incredulous. “No thanks, Cato. But when you’ve decided to switch channels and watch footage from the Games from the previous years, by all means, invite me again—I’ll even bring popcorn.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Cato says with a shrug, nicking a plateful of scones on his way out.

 

Cato always felt more confident knowing what he was getting into; although he preferred to solve his problems with the swing of a sword, a little research on the competition never really hurt anybody. Plus, seeing the girl from twelve onscreen would help him identify her in the arena. Volunteering was next to non-existent in the poorer districts, and Cato always paid attention to those who did. Unlike Clove, he wanted to enter the arena in search of worthy opponents. There were those who deserved to be put down as soon as the clock began to tick, and there were those you would like to save for the very end just to finish the Games on a climactic high. At the back of his mind, he acknowledged the fact that Clove would be his final deterrent to becoming a victor, but she was only one out of twenty-three others, and twenty-three was a big number; regardless of whether they were Careers or not, there would always a handful of people worth remembering.

 

He lets the door shut behind him and turns his attention to the television screen where the reaping ceremonies from the various districts are already playing. Without a doubt, he knows that he and Clove must ally themselves with the other Career tributes; the pair from District 1 looks as if they’re going off to attend a big party in the Capitol instead of participating in a bloodbath, but he knows they are just as skilled as he and Clove. The male Career from four is a tiny twelve-year-old, which makes Cato wonder if he has any chances of surviving past the bloodbath. By the time the footage from District 7 rolls by, Cato is bored out of his skin. Truth be told, he’s only watching this because he’s curious about the girl from twelve—not that he would ever admit this to Clove out loud because she often mistakes curiosity for…other things.

 

“…Primrose Everdeen!”

 

The sound of District 12’s escort—she makes Viola seem almost sane—reading out the name of the female tribute interrupts his reverie. He sees the peacekeepers ushering a small, delicate-looking girl who is quietly tucking in the back of her blouse towards the stage as the rest of the children look on. Some look like they pity her; she can’t be older than thirteen and this must be the first time her name has been included in the pool. The others, of course, look relieved—they’ll be safe from the Capitol’s grand machination for another year. The little girl barely takes a few steps when another girl tears herself away from the crowd screaming, “I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!” in a hoarse voice.

 

And that’s when Cato sees her. She doesn’t look like much. She’s a skinny girl with long dark hair done up in some kind of stylized plait in an old blue dress—the very image of a girl living in the Seam. What catches Cato’s attention, however, is the defiant stance she takes as she announces her decision to take her sister’s place. It’s nothing like what they do in District 2; Cato remembers how he strode forward that morning with his chest puffed out and his head held high when he volunteered for his district. There is no pride or fearlessness in the manner this girl carries herself, but there is no resignation, either.

 

“And what is your name, sweetheart?” Effie Trinket, the escort, asks her.

 

The girl, who is standing onstage with her shoulders stiff and her fists clenched, replies, “Katniss Everdeen.”

 

Cato barely pays any attention to the male tribute when he is called forward; he only has eyes for Katniss Everdeen. It isn’t until the screen blacks out that he realizes his mind has wandered.

 

“Well, well, well,” he murmurs, smirking at his reflection on the blank television screen. “It seems as if you have a fighter in your ranks, District 12—and I am more than looking forward to making her acquaintance.”

 

Katniss Everdeen. Cato knows he will be keeping a close eye on her.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

From the moment they arrive at the Capitol, Cato is tempted to just sleep through everything until they are required to head down to the training center. He understands that all the showbiz is a means for them to appeal for sponsors, but in all honesty, he can’t help but wish that they could be sent straight to the training center. He does not ask Clove about her opinion on the matter, but he can tell she is just as impatient as he is judging by the bored expression on her face. Any other girl would have been thrilled to have a team of stylists attending to her and making her feel beautiful, but Clove just didn’t care; Cato liked that about her.

 

“You must be the Capitol’s greatest nightmare right now,” he calls to her as his stylist adjusts the fit of his armored braces. “I’m sure they’ve been looking forward to dressing up chicks like that girl from one or transforming ugly ducklings from the more deplorable areas into beautiful swans.”

 

“Well, I fall into neither of those two categories,” Clove says in a haughty voice. “And they had better think twice before putting me into one of those frilly dresses for the interview.”

 

Much to Clove’s relief, their stylists had ultimately decided on matching Roman centurion costumes for them during the opening ceremony. Cato had spent the last half hour being giggled at by the ladies from his prep team because his buff, athletic build carried the costume well. Not surprisingly—that was Clove’s opinion, at least—the girl from District 1 often shot flirtatious glances his way whenever she caught sight of him. Cato made it a point to return those smiles because he was going to need her as an ally if he wanted to make things easier on himself. Surviving the Games meant hamming it up to the audience _and_ your fellow tributes; it was never too early to make yourself worthy of people’s attention.

 

“Now, up you go!” Athena, his stylist, urges them. “We’re going to go by district, so you two will be ushered out right after one. Since we’re marketing you as the strong, unbeatable pair, you don’t need to smile and wave to the crowd. I want you to stand like soldiers, stare straight ahead and keep your chins up.”

 

“Easier done than said, Athena.” Cato climbs into the chariot after Clove. “This is exactly what Clove and I agreed on from the very beginning.”

 

As soon as the music booms out over the loudspeakers—cleverly concealed, of course; such is the prowess of Capitol technology—the chariots begin to pull out one by one in the form of a parade. Cato is impressed by the riderless horses; Athena told him that they are so well-trained that they have no need of someone to hold their reins. Cato would have liked to mount it, though. He felt that he would have looked far more impressive riding the horse than standing in the chariot it was pulling. Still, he has no reason to complain; the lights are glinting off their golden armor, making them appear untouchable and otherworldly. They are not pageant contestants like the tributes from District 1 nor are they children walking to the gallows like the rest of the participants; they are soldiers.

 

And at the end of it all, Cato will be the only one standing.

 

The citizens of the Capitol are cheering like mad; they’re enjoying this because they love feasting their eyes on things they have made beautiful. Suddenly, Cato wants to tear his armor off—it is Capitol-owned, just like everything he is going to be putting on or taking in hand for the next few days. He does not show his rage on his face, though; his father has trained him well.

 

Clove suddenly grips his arm, forcing him to turn to her. “Cato, look! Behind you!”

 

This is when Cato realizes that the deafening cheers are not for him. They are for District 12—for Katniss Everdeen and whoever the bloody fuck the male tribute is. They are standing side by side dressed in what look like black unitards with halos of flames trailing in their wake, their joined hands raised in victory. At that precise moment, Katniss Everdeen is the most stunning living being in the room.

 

Cato wants to burn with her.

 

“They lucked out with their prep teams this year, that’s for sure,” Clove bites out. “But it doesn’t matter. We still have the upper hand because we’ve been clutching knives in our hands since birth.”

 

Cato wants to laugh. It’s a brilliantly cooked-up scheme. “They’ll remember her, Clove. It’s hard to forget a girl on fire once she’s blazed past you. District 12 wins this round.”

 

“Did you just admit defeat?” Clove stares at him, aghast.

 

Cato shakes his head. He’s still grinning like a madman. “She’s one to watch out for, Clove—I can feel it.”

 

“Drive your sword into her chest as soon as you can, then.” Clove turns her attention back to Coriolanus Snow, the Capitol’s president.

 

“Happy Hunger Games,” Snow is saying. “And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Cato is in his element at the training center. The weapons there are wonderful; they’re better than anything Cato has ever held in his hands back home. Although District 2 was rather well-off to begin with, the Capitol had its way of making sure you were impressed by everything and anything it has to offer. Cato’s current favorite was a lightweight sword that could slice through bone at the slightest touch. He could only hope that there would be one like it in the arena.

 

This was the only area in which he felt comfortable showing off. He had nothing to hide from the Gamemakers and the other tributes, so he went all out in excelling at whichever obstacle they made him run through and whichever weapon they wanted him to handle. He wasn’t too shabby with other blades, but only the sword bonded with him like an extension of his body.

 

Whenever he wasn’t busy holding court with the other Careers or doing some work of his own, he was busy observing Katniss Everdeen, who was sullen, quiet and intent on keeping to herself. In general, she wasn’t too shabby; she weighed significantly less than the already petite Clove, but she used it to her advantage as she was significantly skilled at hauling herself up to higher surfaces and was quick on her feet. She hardly touched any of the weapons, though, and was often at significantly boring stations such as knot tying or campfire building each time he checked on her.

 

“You’re looking at her again, Cato,” Marvel, the male tribute from District 1, remarks.

 

Clove snorts. “When is he not looking at her? Cato always acts like he wants to have the girl for breakfast, lunch _and_ dinner. Still, you can’t deny that she’ll make it further than most of these kids who obviously have no idea what they’re doing. Wish I could say the same about Loverboy, though.”  

 

“He’s a _baker’s son_ ,” Glimmer says flippantly. “Surely you’re not expecting more from him?”

 

“Johanna Mason,” Cato reminds them. “She played the role of a weakling at the beginning to avoid attention, and then won the Games by turning vicious on the remaining tributes towards the end. I know it’s easy to judge people based on how they look and the skills that they seem to have, but let’s not jump to conclusions. The kids here may not look like much, but they can be cleverer than you think.”

 

“You’re really playing to live, aren’t you, Cato?” Glimmer smiles at him as she snakes a hand around his arm. It’s a terrifying thing; Cato has this sudden theory that she could slit his throat in his sleep. Returning her smile, he curls his arm around her waist and shakes his head.

 

“Darling, I’m playing to _win_.”

 

He turns his attention back to Everdeen, who is glaring daggers at him from her spot by the monkey bars. He smirks at her and makes a come-hither gesture, which she purposely ignores. Cato is enjoying this; he likes how she is pretending that he isn’t getting under her skin.

 

It’s time to stir up the party a little.

 

He extricates his arm from Glimmer’s hold and walks towards Peeta Mellark, who is trying to make like bark at the camouflaging station. In Cato’s opinion, it’s a pretty good imitation of an actual tree bark, but he’s never been one to go the arts-and-crafts route when he has access to an arsenal of perfectly good weapons at his disposal.

 

“How’s the art project going, Loverboy?” he asks teasingly.

 

“Bug off, alright?” Mellark mutters. “I’d rather we stay out of each other’s way until the Games.”

 

“Ooh, touchy, aren’t we?” Cato backs off a bit, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I just wanted to talk to you a little; we’re forming a little club, you see, and I thought you might be interested—”

 

Everdeen chooses that precise moment to cut it. It’s amazing how even her timing is perfect. “He’s not. And just in case you wanted to talk to me a little, neither am I.”

 

“I wasn’t going to invite you along for the ride, Everdeen,” Cato replies coolly. “I’d rather you and I start out as opponents from the very beginning—you know, to make things more…exciting?”

 

“…you really get off on murdering other people, don’t you?” Everdeen asks incredulously. “Is that what you wank off to in your sleep? Images of dead tributes?”

 

“Stop it, Katniss.” Mellark pulls her back. “He isn’t worth the trouble. Let’s just keep our distance.”

 

“You’d better watch your back, Mellark,” Cato warns him. “I might just have Clove hurl her knife right between your shoulder blades.”

 

He moves away from them, but makes sure he stays within earshot. Everdeen is whispering fiercely to Mellark, who is shaking his head at whatever it is she’s saying. Curious, Cato pretends to busy himself with the throwing spear in order to eavesdrop on their conversation.

 

“—you see that iron weight over there? I want you to throw it at that rack near the boy from two.”

 

Mellark shakes his head again. “Remember what Haymitch told us? We’re not supposed to show off what we can do until they take us one by one for the Gamemakers’ evaluation!”

 

“He’s looking at you like you’re a meal,” Everdeen insists. “If you’d rather he look at you like that and kill you as soon as the Games begin, then fine, _don’t_ listen to me.”

 

Cato stops the pretense. He puts down the spear and crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah, Loverboy—show us what you can do. Who knows, maybe I’ll allow you to live another day before I start hunting you down. I do appreciate people with some sort of talent, after all.”

 

Everdeen bristles. She’s opening her mouth for some sort of comeback when the sound of metal clashing against metal interrupts them. Apparently, Mellark thought better of it and did what Everdeen asked of him. He turns to glare at Caro, red-faced and sweaty, as if daring him to come up with anymore condescending remarks. Instead, Cato whistles approvingly as he appraises at the sight of throwing spears littering the floor.

 

“Looks like I’ll be crossing you off my day one list, then,” he concludes. “You’re strong, Loverboy; if you know what’s good for you, I suggest you remember that. And for the record, I don’t wank off to images of dead tributes, Everdeen. In fact, you’d be surprised at the current subject of my fantasies.”

 

He salutes the pair and saunters back to his allies, picking up a fallen spear from the ground and effortlessly hitting his target smack in the chest. The more riled up he got, the more dangerous he became.

 

It was funny how some people still didn’t know it by now.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Dinner is a funny affair. They had just come from their individual evaluations, and most of the tributes are in rather low spirits after their dismal performances. They seem determined to get as little acquainted with each other as possible in order to make the killing easier, so they have taken to eating their meals in solitude. Aside from Cato and his merry band of mercenaries, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are the only ones who have dared to eat in groups that number higher than one.

 

“I can’t wait for them to flash our scores on television after dinner!” Glimmer gushes. “I’m certain I did very well; they were all very appreciative of my talents. Seneca Crane even raised his glass to me!”

 

Cato nods, sending what he hopes is a convincing smile in her direction. He had performed spectacularly as well, but there was something about the look on Seneca Crane’s face that bothered him. The other Gamemakers had applauded him and cheered him on, but Seneca Crane was a different story. The expression on his face had been nothing short of approving; Cato felt pride bubbling in his chest because the Head Gamemaker was indeed, the man to impress. However, he could not help but feel that there was something beneath the surface when Crane’s gaze shifted from approving to almost calculating. He didn’t dare mention this to the other Careers, of course; Cato believed that some secrets were simply meant to be withheld. Plus, it would serve as a dent in his armor, and he didn’t need that right now.

 

“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” Marvel declares. “We’re at the top of the pack, so one of us is definitely going to end up as the top scorer. I can already see the sponsors lining up to provide for us now; we won’t have anything to worry about once we’re out there.”

 

Cato wants to smack him. Sometimes, he forgets that Marvel has the tendency to behave like an idiot on a high horse. Numbers are important, but they do not justify the outcome. He’s watched Games where tributes that have scored as low as a four or a five during evaluations end up outlasting the Careers in the arena. In the training center, everything is laid out for you; all you have to do is choose. In the arena, you can’t take risks and make a beeline for your weapon of choice. There are tributes that die during the bloodbath because they have been stabbed or skewered while making desperate attempts to secure a machete or a poleaxe for their arsenal.

 

When you are in the arena, you do not get to choose.

 

He clears his plate quickly, eager for a hot shower so that he can change into more comfortable clothes for the televised announcement of their scores. He’s also eager to get away from these people who are flocking towards him because of their desire to stay on his good side. It’s not going to change anything; once all the showbiz is over and the Games really begin, Cato’s going to play to win.

 

As soon as he steps into the water, he touches one of the many knobs that line the control panel in the showers, smiling as he pictures how nice it’s going to look in his future home in Victor’s Village.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

When he eventually leaves his quarters to join his mentors and his prep team in the viewing room, he notices that he’s the last one to arrive. Viola is busy pouring some strangely colorful concoctions into glasses for their consumption, and Brutus and Enobaria are talking among themselves about how they’re going to secure sponsors for Clove and himself. His district partner is seated calmly on the couch; her eyebrows arch in question as soon as she catches sight of him.

 

“So, you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

 

“I fell asleep,” he says matter-of-factly. “Training all day has exhausted me and I want to be as well-rested as possible for the Games. Tomorrow’s our last day, after all.”

 

“And also the day of the interviews,” Clove scowls. “I _hate_ interviews; Flickerman is such a nutter.”

 

“Now, now, sweetheart,” Viola chastises her, “you must be on your best behavior tomorrow. Remember, everyone in the Capitol will be tuning in, so you had better make sure you appear likeable!”

 

“That won’t be a problem, Viola,” Clove says sweetly. “I can be likeable when I want to be.”

 

Of course she can—everything is an act to appeal to the Capitol, after all.

 

“Well, you’re just in time, kid,” Enobaria tells him. “The program has just begun.”

 

Cato has to sit through a few minutes of Flickerman and Templesmith doing some fancy-schmancy introductory dialogue before they get on with the actual statistics. Marvel and Glimmer both score a nine each, while Clove and Cato score tens. Clove visibly relaxes at the news; Cato can tell she’s more than content because she’s at par with him and one point higher than both tributes from one. So far, no one else comes up with a double-digit score. He’s looking forward to hearing them announce Katniss Everdeen’s score, though; some tributes pull all the stops out during individual evaluation, and based on what he had overheard that afternoon, that was District 12’s intention all along.

 

“And finally, we have District 12!” Flickerman’s voice booms out over the television. “We have Peeta Mellark with a score of eight and Katniss Everdeen—you’re going to _love_ this, ladies and gentlemen—tops the scale with a beautiful score of eleven!”

 

Viola, Enobaria and Brutus are all surprised. Clearly, they were not expecting this. Clove rises to her feet, suddenly indignant. “I can’t believe this! What did she do in there that we didn’t see during training? What is it that she’s hiding from us?”

 

Cato, on the other hand, is _elated_ at the news of this eleven. A rush of heat travels down his spine, giving him a renewed sense of vigor. He can’t help but feel that he has finally met his match. Whatever she did in that room, the Gamemakers must have liked it. People rarely walked out of there with a score higher than eight or nine, and that applied to all tributes, Career or not. It doesn’t matter to him that more eyes will be on her; what matters to him is that there is somebody worthy going into the Games with him.

 

“A toast,” he murmurs amidst the chaos, raising his glass to the projected image of Katniss Everdeen on the television screen, “to Katniss Everdeen, the martyr from twelve, the girl on fire and my new muse.”  

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

On the day of the interviews, Cato wakes up early. For some reason, he’s always restless in the morning and it takes a lap or two around the vicinity of Victor’s Village to put him at ease. He know he should be exhausted from all the effort he put into yesterday’s sessions, but his endurance has built up over the years due to the intensive training he goes through each day.

 

Going for a run in the Capitol is an entirely different experience, though. District 2 is the home of the masons and the peacekeepers, so Cato isn’t used to seeing bright bursts of color at each turn. In his black tracksuit and running shoes, he feels like the plainest creature on the street—heck, even the Capitol-owned pets are more eye-catching than he is! Sometimes, he stops to sign autographs or pose for photo ops with some people who recognize him from the parade and from last night’s live telecast. Cato does not enjoy hamming up to people, but Brutus often reminded him that for each smile that he spares, he may just receive a gift for the Games in exchange.

 

He’s a better actor than Clove is; he has the patience to entertain people and, in Viola’s opinion, looks for more approachable. He never paid much attention to his look, but Viola is adamant about people being unable to resist “a tall, blonde and handsome drink of water”. He supposes it’s a good thing that he looks the way he does; girls from his district blushed and giggled each time they stopped to talk to him, and Glimmer seems to have a bit of a thing for him, too. She’s pretty enough, but she lacks fire.

 

Cato chuckles. Lacks fire? There’s only one girl in the world who’s entitled to that element. He must be going mad if his memories of her have settled into his subconscious like some sort of virus.

 

He stops at a vending machine for an energy drink. There’s plenty more where that came from at their area of residence, but Cato can’t possibly run back there without hydrating himself.

 

“You’re doing a good job of marketing yourself to the public, Cato.”

 

Seneca Crane is seated on the bench beside the machine, a cup of steaming hot coffee in hand. Cato can almost swear that the man wasn’t there a minute ago.  

 

“I’m well-aware of what I have to do, sir,” he replies carefully. “It’s not easy to get people to like you, but you can do it once you’ve managed to perfect that winning smile.”

 

Crane is giving him that look again. “You love that word, don’t you? Winning, victory, and all things synonymous to it—it’s the principle that you choose to live by. How admirable.”

 

“I like having my motives out in the open,” Cato explains. “I don’t see the use of hiding them when the Capitol can see our every move, anyway.”

 

“Do you think they’re watching us now?” Crane asks. “Do you think they can hear us talking?”

 

Cato shrugs. “With all the technology that you people have access to, I wouldn’t be surprised if live footage of this conversation is playing in President Snow’s office right now.”

 

Seneca Crane chuckles. “Indeed. But you’ve nothing to worry about for now, though; we let you mind your own business until the tracker for the Games is inserted into your arm.”

 

“Should we even be having this conversation?” Cato inquires. “You’re Head Gamemaker and I’m one of the tributes. From a third party’s point of view, this looks highly suspicious.”

 

“You don’t trust anyone, I see,” Crane remarks. “That could work in your favor, but it may also be a deterrent. Alliances can be of assistance for a brief period of time, you know.”

 

Cato snorts. “You’re consciously giving me advice, sir. I don’t think you should be doing this.”

 

“Yet you’re not walking away,” Seneca Crane points out. “Had you been completely unwilling to speak with me, you would have left as soon as you saw me. If I had one of the Avoxes relay a message to you or had I pulled you into an alley, people would be suspecting something. But just like you, I’ve nothing to hide. So, take a seat, Cato. Smile and wave to the passers-by; let them see you acting all chummy with the Head Gamemaker. The pair from one had a photo taken with me after dinner last night, so if ever the press decides to run with this, you can say you’re not the only one making good with Seneca Crane.”

 

“How did you know I would be here, though?” Cato asks once he’s made himself comfortable on the bench. “I didn’t tell anybody I would be going out for a run.”

 

“I enjoy taking leisurely strolls in the morning,” Crane replies. “It’s nice to see the Capitol just before sunrise. I find myself suffering from a bit of a headache as soon as the sun comes up because seeing the light bounce off these new mirrored dresses—I don’t know why they’ve become so popular, really—is quite painful to the eyes.”

 

Cato laughs. For someone who’s been given the post of Head Gamemaker—which consequently means he spends a lot of time with Snow—Seneca Crane’s not so bad. Unlike most of the Capitol citizens who seem to prefer clothes in garish shades of every existing color, Crane looks far more subdued in his black and red ensemble. The only thing that distinguishes him as a man from the Capitol is his stylized facial hair, which Cato finds oddly remarkable.

 

“It’s the beard, isn’t it?” Crane asks, sounding amused. “I’m only sporting it for the Games, actually. It’s my first year as Head Gamemaker, so I have a stylist and a prep team of my own just like the rest of you. My stylist thought I looked very un-Capitol-like, so he attempted to force this new wardrobe on me. We had a row about it, and the only thing I ended up agreeing to was the beard.”

 

“My district partner, Clove, is fighting a similar war,” Cato says with a grin. “She doesn’t fuss with her looks at all, so her stylist is having a bit of a problem with her. They’ve been sporting headaches all night thanks to her reactions to every single one of their designs.”

 

At the mention of Clove, Seneca Crane sobers instantly. “You will eventually have to take her life, Cato—that is, if she does not beat you to it. Are you prepared for this?”

 

Cato shrugs. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. I’ve never taken anybody’s life before, but I’ve been groomed to be a tribute, so I’m a bit more aware of that than the others. I don’t see it as a fun thing, you know, but I’ve got to do it to stay alive.”

 

Seneca Crane doesn’t say anything for a while; it’s as if he has suddenly retreated into his own world. Cato deems this as the end of the conversation and makes a move to leave.

 

“Cato.”

 

Cato stops. “…yeah?”

 

“There will be a feast laid out in front of you. Whatever you do, do not rush in to take the most succulent bit of the bounty. Instead, you stay put, and no matter what you see or no matter what you hear, you _wait_.”   

 

Cato doesn’t understand a bit of it.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Cato’s outfit for the interview is a royal blue suit. Athena says it brings out his “icy baby blues” and perfectly complements his “burnished gold hair”—whatever that means. Clove’s team, on the other hand, manages to wrestle her into this ruffled peach gown that almost makes her look human. He’s not nervous at all; Viola held a brief practice session with him after lunch and deemed him perfect for the stage. He just wishes they could go right after their turn because he’s not in the mood to listen to the other tributes’ woes.

 

Still, that means missing out on his darling girl on fire. She’s so angry and tense that he can’t help but wonder how Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket plan to market her to the Capitol.

 

“Are you nervous?” Glimmer asks, sashaying up to him. She looks lovely in her see-through, golden dress, but even that is not enough to get his blood pumping. He’s got to keep up the act, though; he has to make sure she doesn’t stray from the alliance until it is safe for him to hack her head off.  

 

“Not at all, sweetheart,” he answers smugly. “But enough about me; let’s talk about you—or maybe I’m stating the obvious because the entire Capitol will be talking about you once they see you in that dress.”

 

His words work like magic. It’s rather absurd as to how easily Glimmer turns into putty in his hands. Clove was not happy with having to play nice with them, but eventually came to agree with him that they would need to feign an alliance with the other Careers to strike some fear into the rest of the tributes. While she was most unwilling to seduce Marvel—who really is quite stupid—she agreed to act all friendly with him so they could fully utilize his skills.

 

“Coming through, coming through!” he hears Effie Trinket trill. Honestly, it’s amazing how the woman doesn’t drive District 12 insane. “Katniss, dear, do walk like a lady and hike up your train! I don’t want to see you dragging it all over the floor like some it’s a burdensome thing…”

 

Cato turns his attention to the District 12 team for a better look. Katniss Everdeen looks every bit the girl on fire in her new dress, a tight-fitting red and yellow gown with a long, flowing train and gemstones everywhere. It’s not as provocative as Glimmer’s and she is everything but graceful as she struggles with the train and her high-heeled shoes, but Cato can feel his cock harden in his pants at the very sight of her.

 

“Places, everyone!” one of the escorts—Cato can’t keep track of their names anymore; they’re all beginning to sound the same thanks to the funny Capitol accent—announces. “They’re going to call you in by district, so Glimmer and Marvel, if you two would be so kind…”

 

Cato is about to take his place beside Clove when he feels a sharp gaze settle on him. Grinning, he turns to salute Everdeen, who is glaring at him, her hands perched rebelliously on her narrow hips—the cut of the dress gives her a fuller figure, he notices. She’s not an idiot; he can that she knows he’s been observing her. He makes a show of pointing at her and palming his crotch, which makes her turn her back on him in disgust. Obviously, the girl has been spending too much time with the nice baker boy.

 

“Cato!” Clove reprimands him sharply. “Stop it! You’re being disgusting.”

 

“Chill, Clove,” he puts a hand—not the one he used to rub his dick, of course—on her shoulder. “I’m just trying to be friendly, that’s all.”

 

“Well, your concept of friendship is retarded,” Clove bites back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now stop being a dick and put on your best show smile; we’re about to start.”

 

Cato purposely chews on his lip to stop himself from groaning out loud as Caesar Flickerman’s campy talk show music booms out over the speakers. This is exactly why this is his least favorite part of the whole tribute business.

 

“Welcome, welcome, citizens of the Capitol!” Flickerman turns his chair to face the audience. “And to the rest of Panem who are watching us from the comfort of their own homes, a good evening to you as well. This is Caesar Flickerman from the Capitol, and once again, I have been given the privilege to get up close and personal with our brave young tributes. How about a round of applause for everyone before we start, eh? I’m sure you’re just as excited as I am!”

 

He raises his arms for effect, and the walls of his studio tremble thanks to the volume of his audience’s cheers. Cato can’t deny that Flickerman has charisma.

 

“And now that we’ve gotten introductions out of the way, let us proceed with the show! Please give a warm welcome to our female tribute from District 1, the beautiful Glimmer!”

 

“All she has to do is bend over at the waist and sponsors will come flocking,” Clove says in a voice so low that only Cato can hear. “Don’t expect me to go down that path, though.”

 

“We’ve got our own game plan, so don’t worry about a thing,” Cato assures her. Right now, he’s glad to have Clove on his side; they’re in this together until he decides it’s time to break the alliance.

 

Cato pays close attention to Glimmer’s and Marvel’s interviews. Flickerman never asks the same question twice; his interviews are conducted in such a way that they cater to each tribute individually. In fact, some of his questions are so personal that Cato can’t help but wonder if the Capitol has found a way to pry into people’s diaries—not that he owns one, of course. Before he knows it, Clove has just left the stage and it’s his turn to take a seat next to Caesar Flickerman.

 

“My goodness, these tributes are full of surprises, aren’t they? Sharp-tongued, clever and very, very dangerous, that’s District 2’s Clove for you, ladies and gents. Next up, we have this year’s god of war—he’s the highest scorer among the male tributes with a mark of ten—Cato from District 2!”

 

Cato’s marketing strategy has worked wonders for his image; the studio erupts into thunderous applause as he leaps up onstage and raises his arm up in victory before taking his seat.

 

“Would you look at that?” Flickerman laughs, sounding delighted. “The crowd _loves_ you, Cato! Whatever have you done that pleases them so?”

 

“Nothing on purpose, Caesar,” Cato says conspiratorially, turning to the audience to give them a roguish wink. “They say secrets are appealing, but I’m more of the in-your-face type; whatever you’ve seen of me so far, that’s who I am. I don’t feel the need to hide anything and I’m not sorry about it.”

 

“Don’t you think this is going to work to your disadvantage, though?” Flickerman presses. “Now that people know exactly what you’re capable of, I’m sure they’ve already begun to device ways to cripple you.”

 

“But that’s where their misfortune lies,” Cato responds. “They know I’m strong. They know I’m handy with almost every single weapon available to man. They know how much I can endure. They know I’ve been preparing for this since childhood. Basically, they know I’m a threat, and that is my biggest weapon. There are twenty-three other tributes, and a good number of them are terrified of me. Very few people dare to confront their fears—this immediately gives me the upper hand.”

 

The people from the Capitol are beside themselves with excitement; they’re elated that they have someone like him in the Games. He indulges them with another well-practiced victor’s grin.

 

“And what do you hope to achieve with your victory?” Flickerman asks.

 

Cato pauses for a moment. “Honor for my district, of course,” he finally says. “District 2 enjoys being the champion; Victor’s Village in our district is nearly fully occupied, so we’re looking into expansion.”

 

“You’re a good citizen, Cato,” Flickerman beams at him. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us. Ladies and gentlemen of Panem, let’s hear it one more time for the brave and the bold Cato!”

 

Cato holds his head high as Flickerman lifts his arm into the air in a champion’s gesture. Another smile would have been generous, but he decides to put on his stoic face; nobody needs to know that he was almost unable to answer that final question. When your family raises you to become a tribute, what else can you hope to achieve aside from victory and honor? That’s what Cato’s life is going to be like after the Games—he’ll go back to two as a victor, become a mentor alongside Brutus and Enobaria, marry some girl out of political need, and train his own children to become tributes as well.

 

 _Fight_ , he thinks as he walks off the stage. _That’s all I know how to do, anyway._  

 

“That was brilliant, Cato!” Glimmer is all over him like a swarm of tracker jackers. “Did you see how much the audience adored you? You came off so strong and sexy!”

 

Clove rolls her eyes behind Glimmer’s back, but gives him a thumbs-up as a sign of approval. Right now, he’s sick of all the attention; he wants to sit down and listen to the other tributes—perhaps he’ll get some new ideas—so that he can go to bed and wake up to the Hunger Games tomorrow. Cato has never been the adaptable type; he would much rather immerse himself in surroundings that are familiar to him.

 

“Tomorrow,” Clove assures him, as if reading his mind.

 

“Tomorrow,” he agrees before shifting his attention back to Flickerman.

 

Most of the tributes are ridiculously boring. It isn’t until District 11 that he finds himself listening intently. Thresh and Rue are a curious pair; Thresh is a big, hulking dark-skinned boy with arms that look like they can crush Cato without difficulty. His answers to Flickerman’s questions are either ‘yes’ or ‘no’, and he’s glaring defiantly at the audience the whole time he is there. Impressed by his performance at the training center, Cato had invited him to set up camp with him, but he adamantly refused. This only increased his respect for Thresh, though; if he were not a Career, Cato’s ideal means of survival would be to stalk off on his own, too. Rue, the female tribute, is one of the youngest competitors in the game. She scored a seven for her individual evaluation and even managed to get away with stealing Cato’s knife during the group session. Aside from Clove and Katniss Everdeen, only those two would prove to be worthy opponents in the arena. Clove had also pointed out the quiet red-haired girl from five, but Cato couldn’t quite recall her face because she was eerily good at keeping herself out of the picture.

 

As soon as Katniss Everdeen clambers—there’s no other way for Cato to describe the awkward way she moves in that dress—onto the stage, she becomes the subject of his undivided attention once more. She’s gazing out into the audience as if she doesn’t quite know what she’s doing there, and Cato can’t help but commiserate with her plight because he didn’t feel quite at home up there, either.

 

“…what?” she asks stupidly in response to Flickerman’s question.

 

The audience erupts into giggles; apparently, they find feigning ignorance adorable. Marvel, Glimmer and Clove are laughing, too, but for different reasons, obviously.

 

“What an idiot,” he hears Glimmer say. “She let her stage fright take over her.”

 

Cato feels a flicker of annoyance at her words. He’s secretly disgusted at Glimmer for the way she sees the Hunger Games; he supposes he can’t blame her for that since people for District 1 view it more as a pageant of talent and murder than for what it really is, but it irks him all the same.

 

 _Different strokes for different folks_ , he thinks.

 

“Oh, let her be, folks,” Flickerman is saying, “she can’t help being nervous; it’s her first time here at the Capitol. And speaking of the Capitol, Katniss, what is it you like the most about being here?”

 

“…the food, I suppose,” Everdeen blurts out, “especially the lamb stew. We don’t get much to eat back home in twelve.”

 

“That’s my favourite, too.” Flickerman is nodding his head in agreement. “Why, I can eat it by the bucket! I hope it doesn’t show, though; I’ve been meaning to lose a bit of weight this year. But tell me about your dress, Katniss! It’s beautiful—by far the most beautiful one I’ve seen tonight!”

 

“Thank you,” Everdeen ducks her head, apparently playing the modest card. “My stylist, Cinna, made it for me—so far, everything’s been inspired by that ‘girl on fire’ nickname I’ve been given. Oh, and just like the costume I wore during the opening ceremonies, this dress has a bit of fire in it, too.”

 

Flickerman gasps. “Is it safe?”

 

“Perfectly,” Everdeen says with a smile as she rises from her seat. “Would you like to see?”

 

The audience is sending catcalls and loud cheers her way in response. Everdeen draws in a deep breath, hikes her train up the way Effie Trinket told her to, and makes a slow spin onstage. She looks breathtaking like this, with the red and yellow fabric swirling around her trim body like a kindling bonfire.

 

“Slow down, slow down!” Flickerman chuckles, rushing to her aid when she’s precariously close to falling off the stage. “That was a brilliant display of Cinna’s talents, though! Thank you for that, Katniss. I hate to interrupt the fun, but there’s one question I’d really like to ask you. That girl you volunteered to replace in the reapings—she is your sister, right?”

 

The noise in the studio dies so quickly that Cato thinks he can probably hear a pin drop somewhere. It’s clearly the moment all of Katniss Everdeen’s supporters have been waiting for. She pauses— it’s similar to Cato’s reaction to Flickerman’s final question for him—before uttering a quiet, “…yes.”

 

Flickerman reaches out to squeeze her hand. “Did she come to see you before you left for the Capitol? And if she did, is there anything she said to you?”

 

“She told me that I was smart,” Katniss Everdeen replies in a hoarse voice. “She told me that I should try to win. And I told her I would.”

 

“And try you will,” Flickerman says in a gentle voice. “Thank you for your time, Katniss.”

 

“Of course they’re going to play the volunteer card,” Marvel huffs. “That’s the only reason as to why she’s suddenly so special—in the eyes of these people, she’s a fucking _saint_.”

 

“She’d be boring if she’d been reaped just like the rest of them,” Glimmer adds. “Her love for her sweet little sister aside, she’s no one interesting.”

 

“And speaking of interesting, we’re in for a boring last couple of minutes,” Clove says condescendingly. “Loverboy Mellark is about to take his seat; I wonder what strategy he’s got under his belt.”

 

Cato secretly believes it’s unwise to underestimate Peeta Mellark. In general, the boy comes off as weak but extremely likable; he could very well pull a Johanna Mason two-parter and hack them all open with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. Unlike most of the tributes, he’s perfectly at ease sitting up there with Caesar Flickerman while gamely answering his questions.

 

“Is there any girl waiting for you back home, Peeta?” Flickerman asks.

 

Peeta Mellark shoots a shy smile at the audience and shakes his head. “Oh, no, Caesar—there’s no one.”

 

“I don’t believe you for a second!” Flickerman laughs. “You’re a handsome boy, Peeta; it’s hard to imagine someone with a face like that as a single man. Come on, tell us who she is!”

 

“Okay, okay,” Mellark says with a laugh, “you’ve caught me red-handed. Still, it wouldn’t do me much good to walk home a victor and ask for her hand in marriage.”

 

“And why’s that, hmmm?”

 

Peeta Mellark stares out into the audience longingly. “It’s because she came here with me.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“It’s because she came here with me.”

 

It’s the most ridiculous thing Cato has ever heard, but he has to hand it to Peeta Mellark for having the guts to pull such a move. The Capitol is going to eat it up—they already are, in fact—and nobody is going to remember Glimmer’s beauty, Clove’s tenacity, Thresh’s quiet strength or even Cato’s superior abilities because they are going to be so busy fussing over the star-crossed lovers from District 12.

 

Cato kicks over an empty folding chair in rage. “I’m done with this shit!”

 

“You can’t just leave!” Glimmer protests. “We’re going to have a group photo op with Caesar for the front page of tomorrow’s paper. Your team is going to go crazy making excuses for your absence!”

 

She’s right; it would be bad manners to simply walk out when the proceedings aren’t over yet, but at this point, Cato just doesn’t care anymore. It’s infuriating how just one sentence from a less-skilled tribute has immediately cut down his chances of becoming the most memorable tribute.

 

“Watch me,” he scowls, ripping off his tie. “I don’t care if they’re going to publish a one-page spread on the boy from two and how he made a scene after the interviews! An extra bit of attention—despite being due to reasons far from ideal—is better than none at all.”

 

“You’re not the only who’s angry, though,” Clove says calmly. “The girl on fire just slammed her admirer into the wall because she didn’t like what he said about her—said it made her look weak.”

 

Cato laughs. It’s a harsh sound. “That makes two of us, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Clove.”

 

Fortunately, he had half a mind left when he made his outburst. He had waited for the program to end before calmly retreating back to the holding room to hurl a folding chair against the wall. He was certain they had heard it from outside, but only the tributes and their prep teams had borne witness to his moment of rage. There had been a bit of buzz going around about people questioning his sanity—maybe it was time to live up to the notion that he was half mad.

 

He did not, however, expect to see Katniss Everdeen rush out of the holding room as well. Her hair was a wild mess, her skirts were crumpled and those ridiculous shoes she couldn’t walk in earlier were dangling by the straps in her free hand.

 

He leans against the wall. “Congratulations on your engagement. I’d ask for an invitation to your wedding, but I don’t think it’s going to happen because Loverboy is going to drop dead soon enough. I do hope he’s amenable to accepting a knife to his jugular as a wedding present.”

 

A horrible sound escapes her throat as she throws her shoes at him—it’s a narrow miss; Cato’s reflexes are excellent, but so is Katniss Everdeen’s sense of accuracy.

 

“Don’t you dare say that about him!” she practically screams. “If anyone deserves to drop dead first, it’s _you_! I’ll kill you both myself if I have to!”

 

“If only the Capitol could hear you now, girl on fire,” Cato sneers. “They’d wet themselves in excitement at the very idea of you defending him like that. Next thing you know, they’re going to be hoping for him to come to rescue because he made you sound like some damsel in distress.” 

 

She advances on him and presses hard against his throat with the force of her forearm. Given his height and weight advantage, Cato can easily knock her to the floor, but he’s enjoying this immensely. She’s gorgeous when she’s livid; she looks so _alive_ and this is how he wants to remember her when she’s gone.

 

He grabs her other hand and presses it to his crotch. He’s hard again, and he wants her to know that it’s all her fault. “Feel that, girl on fire? This is what you do to me.”

 

“Let me go, you disgusting brute!” she hisses, trying to pull her hand away. “This is sick!”

 

“Why, is this your first time touching someone’s cock?” Cato murmurs in her ear. “Never experimented with that guy friend who had back home? I heard you and he were pretty tight—”

 

“Leave Gale out of this! How did you hear about him, anyway? I never mentioned him, not once!”

 

“Well, word travels fast, darling,” Cato replies, dragging her hand over his crotch in a rubbing motion. “And who in their right mind would ignore the handsome, dark-haired knight in shining armor who swoops in to carry the little princess away from the evil witches and wizards of the Capitol? It was televised for all of Panem to see, Katniss.”

 

She struggles in his grasp, but he’s too strong for her. Wordlessly, he pushes himself away from the wall and summons the elevator, still clutching her wrist in a death grip.

 

“What are you doing?” she scowls at him. “Where are you taking me?”

 

Cato presses the number ‘2’ on the elevator control panel. “There’s your answer.”

 

It’s Katniss’ turn to sneer at him. She reaches for his shirt and forcefully pulls it open, sending buttons flying everywhere. “Are you going to take me to bed like it’s our wedding night and expect me to open my legs for you like a good little girl?”

 

The elevator doors open once more and Cato wastes no time in pulling Katniss into the receiving room. He pins her to one of the tall, high-backed chairs and slips her arm out of the single strap that keeps the dress on her body. He pushes it down, and his mouth waters at the sight of her bare breasts. She’s not as well-endowed as Glimmer, but Cato’s never been one for large breasts and shapely hips. On the rare occasions that he does think about marriage, he doesn’t think about love; he thinks about someone he sees himself spending the rest of his life with—someone strong, someone exciting.

 

For a brief moment in time, he allows himself to indulge in a fantasy.

 

He imagines himself coming home to Victor’s Village to see his wife preparing dinner in the kitchen. It’s lamb stew, of course; it’s her most favourite thing and Cato loves her too much to deny her the things she loves. He’ll tuck her braid behind her ear and press a kiss to those fine cheekbones, telling her about how his day in the academy went. He has a good batch of little soldiers this year, among them their own son who has just turned twelve and is showing excellent prowess. They’ll have dinner together, and Cato will let their son—his name will be Ares, after the god of war—prattle on and on about how he’s learning so much at the academy. As soon as the dishes are dried and put away, they’ll tuck Ares into bed and head out into the backyard to do some training of their own. Cato gets a lot of exercise working with the district children, but only his wife has ever been able to match him stroke for stroke. A different kind of hunger will soon take over them, and she’ll be pushing him to the ground because she wants him in her so badly. Once again, Cato won’t be able to deny her that pleasure; he owes her that much. They’ll come apart in each other’s arms, and Cato will curl himself around her just because he can.

 

“I wish I could have seen you before they brought you to the remake center,” he grunts, squeezing her breasts roughly. “I like scars, you know? I had some of my own, too; I wore them like badges because they told stories of my exploits. I had a fit when I was told that my prep team was going to get rid of them.”

 

He doesn’t know why he’s telling her this; it’s not like him to share little things about himself to people he’s going to end up killing. He supposes this is why she’s so good at driving him crazy. When they’re breathing the same air, he feels more yet less like himself at the same time.

 

Maybe this is what sex does to people. Maybe it drives them mad.

 

Katniss surprises him by unzipping his fly and reaching into his briefs for his cock, squeezing it in tandem with his assault on her breasts. Her strokes are clumsy and uncertain, but it’s endearing all the same. He likes knowing that he’s probably the first man who got to see her bent so out of shape. He lifts her up a little so he can suck on her breasts, rolling the stiff little peaks between his lips just to hear her moan. There is nothing sweet about the way she tastes; he finds that he likes the slightly salty flavour of her skin.

 

“Turn around,” he orders, tearing his lips away from her nipple. “I want you to grip the back rest as tight as you can.”

 

Her hair is dishevelled and her chest is heaving. Cato has never seen anyone more radiant in his life. “What makes you think I’m going to obey you, you prick?”

 

Cato smirks. He pulls up her skirts and yanks her underwear—it’s red lace; her stylist has good taste—down in one fluid motion. Immediately, his hand travels up to explore her nether regions; she’s been waxed clean at the remake center, and her folds are slick with moisture.

 

She’s wet for him, he realizes.

 

A guttural moan escapes her throat as he pushes two fingers into her sex. She’s as tight as a vice, but so, so wet, nonetheless. Cato has never touched a girl like this before. His fingers probe her with curiosity. It’s amazing how each stroke elicits a different reaction from her; when he crooks his finger into the deepest part of her that he can reach, she keens so loudly that he’s almost scared that someone will hear. The smell of her is so intoxicating, though. It’s suddenly so easy for him to get down on his knees to taste the honey that’s dripping down her thighs. She gasps with pleasure each time his tongue stabs inside her, and she arches her back when he takes her swollen clitoris between his lips and sucks.

 

“God, _Cato_!” She utters his name for the first time ever, and it sounds so banal and sacred and beautiful coming from her lips.

 

He smirks as he presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh. “That’s the idea, darling. Now, tell me what you want, Katniss. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

 

She cranes her neck over her shoulder to look him straight in the eye. She’s angry, humiliated and eager at the same time—it’s a beautiful sight to behold. Cato is going to break her until she shatters.

 

“I want you to fuck me.”

 

She hikes her skirts up and spreads her slick folds open, baring herself to him. Cato is struck by how utterly shameless she is. It’s the night before the Games, and yet here she is, half-naked and ready for him, making him want her more than anything.

 

“You’re a mad little bitch,” he finally remarks, surprised at how needy he sounds. He unbuckles his belt, shucks off his trousers and underwear, and reaches for one of the tiny vials of scented oil from the end table. He pours a liberal amount onto his palm and slicks his cock with the substance.

 

“…it’s going to hurt,” he blurts out. “You could end up sore in the morning—the pain will become a deterrent to your performance in the Games.”

 

“Since when did you start caring so much?” she asks with a derisive snort. “I _know_ what pain feels like, Cato; a little vaginal ache won’t be enough to stop me from killing you.”

 

Cato positions his cock at her entrance and rubs it along her slit, making her shiver. “Well, it is better to die knowing the feeling of having a cock up your cunt.”

 

“For fuck’s sake, Cato!” she growls. “Just do it!”

 

Cato drives into her without preamble, groaning at how snug she feels around him. He knows he’s not going to last long; he has never done this before and is just as inexperienced as the girl he’s fucking. It’s all he can do to reach around and thumb her clit as he pushes in and out of her, relishing in the mixed cries of pain and pleasure that escape her throat.

 

“ _Katniss_ ,” he grunts, slamming his hips against her arse.

 

“Cato!” she responds with equal fervour. “Oh godfuckingdamnit, Cato!”

 

It’s too much. He empties himself into her with a grunt, and moans in satisfaction when he feels her own release coating his cock and his fingers. He can barely register the rustle of movement as she moves out from beneath him to pull her dress back into place.

 

“Good night, Cato,” she says coolly, as if nothing had happened.

 

He waits until she’s gone before pulling up his own clothes and moving to switch on the diffuser; Clove and his team don’t need to find out what the bloody hell happened here tonight.

 

Later, when he’s towelling himself off after a shower, he realizes that he unconsciously gave her an advantage over him. Each time he sees her, he won’t be able to resist going back to the memories of tonight. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cato has his orders: take a weapon, kill the others and win. He can’t help but wish for everything to have stayed that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a collective post of all ten chapters rolled into one. Why? I was an idiot who accidentally deleted her ENTIRE work when the office net was bugging down while posting the new chapter--so yeah, all my hits and comments have basically died with it. Silly me.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> This crazy little story is a byproduct of a Tumblr post, a second viewing of Ross’ film and my hyperactive imagination. My friend, Tami Kumar (this is your fault, my little llama!), made this comment about how one can ship Cato and Katniss in the film because of all the eye sex that happens. I ran with this blurb and voila—my first venture into The Hunger Games world of fan fiction. Neither the characters nor the story belong to me. Suzanne Collins is the wizard behind everything and anything; Gary Ross had a bit of a hand in this (the film adaptation), too. The only magic I wield here are the liberties I have taken with both the story and some aspects of the film.

The Launch Room is empty save for a circular metal plate. Cato eyes it with suspicion; they say tributes who step off the plate too early get blasted to kingdom come. Still, it’s not enough to scare him—it’s his ticket to glory, after all. Heaving a sigh, he snatches the Capitol-issued black jacket from its hanger and puts it on. Normally, the stylist would come down to the Launch Room with his or her respective tribute, but Cato made a request to go through the motions alone, as he wanted to use what little time he had down there to think and to strategize.  

 

Clove promised that she would watch his back. She’s much handier with throwing a knife than he is, so it will be easier for her to defend him from a distance while he dives into the Cornucopia in search of his sword, Marvel and Glimmer at his heels.

 

The waiting is always the worst part. He’ll feel much better once he’s out there.

 

It’s almost a relief when he hears a cool female voice announces that it’s time to prepare for the launch. He moves from his spot on the bench to stand on the metal plate, barely flinching when a glass cylinder lowers itself over him. He’s grateful he chose to do this alone; he can tell that Athena’s grown fond of him and that it would break her heart to see him being prepared like a pig for slaughter.

 

The cylinder begins to rise. Cato finds himself in darkness until the metal plate pushes him out from the cylinder. The arena this year is an open stretch of flat ground with a lake to the east and piney woods to the west and south. His eyes, of course, are fixed on the Cornucopia, a large, golden horn with a curved tail and a large, gaping mouth housing all the temptations in the world—weapons, medicines, garments, food, shelter, you name it. The supplies closest to his feet are those of little value.

 

Cato refuses to settle for less than what he envisions.

 

Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms out over—whatever it is they’re using to amplify the sound. “Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!”

 

Sixty seconds. That’s how much time Cato has to analyze his surroundings before the gong releases them. They are arranged in a ring, all equally distant from the Cornucopia. He is between the girl from District 6 and Thresh, who is adamantly refusing to acknowledge anybody else’s existence. Katniss Everdeen is a few tributes away on his left, surveying her surroundings like a hawk.

 

He wonders if she’s aching down there. Maybe she’ll remember him if she is.

 

“Kiss, kiss, Katniss,” he murmurs, a smirk lacing his lips. “And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.”

 

He closes his eyes and tilts his face to the sun, amused at how it gives the illusion of a beautiful summer day. The Gamemakers can create and alter the area to their liking, so it must seem so absurd to those people from the districts that they have been cast into what could possibly be a perfectly normal forest area. He spares a thought for the calm, elegant Seneca Crane, who is probably directing the happenings in the control room by now. Cato secretly hopes the man has no intentions of making it easy for them; he wants the whole of Panem to recognize him as a well-deserving victor—

 

The gong goes off so suddenly that Cato almost feels as if he just imagined the sound. It takes Clove impatiently yelling for him to get his mind working properly again. He’s in no real danger right now, though; they’re the ones who should be avoiding him at all costs. Clove is quick to take action; Cato can see that she’s already managed to get her greedy hands on the set of silver throwing knives she’s had her eyes on. Glimmer, Marvel and the girl from District 4—Cato’s terrible with names, really—are making quick work of what tributes they can catch. They had come to an agreement that they would kill off as many tributes as they can first before setting up camp in the Cornucopia. He refuses to go into hiding; he’s got no one to hide from, anyway. The pair from eleven, he notices, has already disappeared into the woods. He can worry about them later; the weaker ones will go down first.

 

A flash of orange catches his eye. A few yards from him, Katniss Everdeen and a male tribute—probably from District 9, but Cato isn’t too sure—are wrestling each other for a pack. He’s just about to go in to kill the boy himself when he sees one of Clove’s knives catch him in the back.

 

Obviously, Katniss is her next target.

 

She’s smart enough to raise the pack over her head; the blade Clove has hurled at her lodges into it instead of her body. It’s a smart move—not only did she give herself free license to get away, but she had unconsciously equipped herself with a weapon now.

 

“Thanks for the knife!” she declares with a grin before running off into the woods.

 

Cato wants to kiss her. It’s a lovely thing, outwitting someone. He wants Katniss to get away. He wants to see her at the finale when they’re the only ones left in the arena.

 

He sprints off towards his allies. “Let her go, Clove. Chasing her now won’t be worth it.”

 

She scowls at him, but relents. She knows they won’t be chasing anyone just yet. Sighing, Cato grabs an abandoned spear on the ground and swiftly skewers two grappling tributes with it, ending them both quickly and effectively.

 

They’re his first kills—two birds with one stone. And he does not feel the slightest twinge of guilt.

 

Some tributes are still hacking at each other. Very few of them had decided to play it safe by running off to find a safe place to spend the night. Apparently, the lure of the Cornucopia and the supplies that decorate its mouth was too much for the desperate ones. But what use is a sword or a mace or an axe in your hands if you don’t know how to use it? All the same, you’d be as good as dead.

 

Cato makes for the back of the Cornucopia. This spear is handy, but he wants that sword. His allies are busy taking out the remainder of the living tributes, so there is no one to hinder him in his quest. He’s just about to reach for one of the beautiful gleaming blades when the small boy from four darts out from behind a crate. He’s so young, this one—too young to have been reaped. If Cato’s younger brother had lived—his mother had suffered a miscarriage—he would have been about the same age.

 

“Go,” he mutters under his breath. God forbid if the others catch him saying this. “They’re busy doing god-knows-what right now, so you can sneak past them with ease.”

 

The boy doesn’t move. He’s staring at Cato in fear, probably wondering if he’s going to end up skewered by the spear as soon as he turns his back.

 

“I said, _go_!” Cato hisses, choosing to skewer the crate instead.

 

That does the trick. The boy scuttles past him, but not without whispering a reverent “thank you” before moving out of sight. Cato can’t help wondering if he’s done the boy more bad than good by sending him out there where someone can grab him and slit his throat. He could have done the deed himself; if there’s anything Cato can do well, it’s sending people to their graves as quickly and as painlessly as possible. He’s not the type to hang people upside down and flay them alive as the cook in the bright sunshine—that’s more of Clove’s style.

 

Maybe he did himself a favor by letting the boy go. The people of the Capitol seem to like saints.

 

He walks out of the Cornucopia to survey the scene. Most of them are dead. Only Glimmer, Marvel, the boy from three and the girl from four are still standing. Clove is bent over the bleeding body of a girl, slowly dragging her knife down the dying girl’s abdomen. Cato shakes his head. He unsheathes his new weapon and plunges it into the girl’s throat, bringing an end to her agony.

 

“That’s enough,” he grunts. “We’re here to kill, not to torture—it’s a waste of time. Does anyone have a good idea as to how many got away?”

 

“Both tributes from eleven and twelve, that’s for sure,” Marvel reports, gazing out at the corpses littering the ground. “I couldn’t keep track of the rest.”

 

The boy from four. Cato’s to blame for that, but he doesn’t say a word.

 

“We aren’t responsible for all these deaths, though,” Glimmer admits. “The boy from ten killed the male tribute from seven by snapping his neck. He has an injured foot, but he’s very strong.”

 

“We have about ten dead, then,” he notes, making a quick body count before the hovercraft comes in to collect the corpses. “And the day isn’t even over yet. The Capitol must be having a ball.”

 

“Do we start setting up camp, then?” Glimmer asks. She’s already opening some of the packs that litter the ground. “I think it is best we settle in before nightfall.”

 

“Go ahead,” Cato tells her. He turns to the District 3 boy and the District 4 girl. “For now, you’re with us. You get to share our food and you get your fair share of the weapons. I suggest you don’t try anything funny if you don’t want to die before you absolutely have to.”

 

He walks back into the Cornucopia and rakes his hands through his hair. He’s alive, unscathed and perfectly safe for the moment, but his head is killing him and he just wants to crawl into a sleeping bag to get his bearings back. It’s eerily peaceful all of a sudden. Glimmer and Marvel are puttering around as they check out their supplies; it almost feels as if they’re simply on some sort of camping trip. Clearly, the odds are in his favor, so why does he the need to sleep for the next thirty years?

 

Clove is making her way towards him, the boy from three in tow. Her eyes are bright with ambition and her cheeks are flushed with excitement. Clearly, she’s discovered something that makes her happy. Cato’s suddenly wary of her again; Clove is less of a threat when she’s angry than when she’s actually happy.

 

“The boy from three came up with a great idea!”

 

“Really now?” Cato asks, genuinely surprised. District 3 isn’t a Career district, but he’s vaguely aware that their expertise lies in electronics and other related areas. “What is it, then?”

 

The boy shuffles nervously from one foot to the other. “Uhm, remember those mines that were set to detonate if we jumped off the launch plates earlier than the prescribed time frame? I’m pretty handy with stuff like that because we take them apart all the time in our district. Since it looks like we’re going to be here for some time, I thought we could secure the supplies by resetting the mines in a ring around them. Given enough time, I can dig up the mines and re-arm them for a second detonation.”

  
Cato’s impressed. The kid has guts. “How much time would you need?”

 

“A week, at least,” the boy replies. “I haven’t checked the packs yet, but I doubt they’ll be holding the supplies I really need to properly re-activate the mines.”

 

“Which means we’re going to need sponsors,” Cato declares. “I hope your mentors can hear us right now because only they will be able to convince your sponsors that this is a good idea. Still, it won’t hurt to show the Capitol how well we’re doing right now—”

 

He is interrupted by the sound of the cannons. Each one represents a fallen tribute. Cato doesn’t need to count the blasts to know that there will be at least ten tonight.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

By nightfall, the anthem that will play the death recap comes on. From his post on the top of the Cornucopia—Cato did not hesitate to crown himself king of his makeshift castle—he can see the seal of the Capitol, a bright beacon in the dark skies. Back home, they would always make a scene by running the playback footage of the killings. Because they’re supposed to stay on equal grounds here, all they’re going to get are photos and districts numbers.

 

It’s an awful way of honoring the dead.

 

Since they go by district number, the first image they flash is that of the girl from three—Marvel’s kill. Of course, all the Careers have survived, so there are none from Districts 1, 2 and 4.  Cato’s secretly pleased to find out that the boy he saved has made it through today, at least. The boy from five is gone. Districts 6 and 7 have been wiped clean. There’s the boy from eight. District 9 has no tributes left as well; Cato vaguely remembers the boy of nine as one of the victims of his first kill. The girl from ten appears onscreen, and the sky grows dark again.

 

Katniss Everdeen is still alive. So is Peeta Mellark.

 

Cato is going to sleep well tonight.

 

He doesn’t stay asleep for long, though; dawn is barely on the horizon when he wakes up with the overwhelming urge to hunt. Quietly, he slips his sword back into the scabbard around his belt and slides down the side of the Cornucopia, shaking Marvel and Glimmer awake so they can join him. Clove, who volunteered to play sentry for this shift, is wide-awake. He can’t help but flip the bird as she mock-salutes him as they walk past her.

 

“What are we looking for?” Glimmer asks, dropping her voice to a whisper.

 

“Nothing specific,” Cato replies. “Tributes. Game. Whatever catches your fancy.”

 

Judging by the expression on Glimmer’s face, it’s not the right thing to say. She’s eyeing him in such a way that’s saying he’s the one who caught her fancy, but he continues to ignore her not-so-subtle advances. He’s on the lookout for something— _anything_ —that will give him a hint that there is someone else out there aside from them. He doesn’t want to go too far right now; it’s barely even morning and they haven’t had breakfast yet. Clove had wanted to go exploring after the announcement of the deaths has played, but he’d argues that it was far too dangerous to traipse around in the woods at night due to the non-human elements that could cripple them. Some tributes ended up dying slow, agonizing deaths due to diseases they had contacted through seemingly harmless things like contaminated water or poisonous plants. Cato refuses to end up like them. It’s safer if they come across someone to kill; if the Gamemakers sense that the Capitol is getting restless due to the lack of action, they’re going to end up concocting something that will convince them to get off their haunches.

 

And then Cato smells it—the distinct scent of smoke.

 

Apparently, there are people dumb enough to think they can start fires without getting caught.

 

Marvel snickers. “What an idiot,” he says in a low voice. “I guess someone wasn’t willing to compromise warmth to stay safe last night. I bet they thought that once we were settled in the Cornucopia, we would have stayed there until morning. Well, you’re wrong about your Careers.”

 

“Keep your voice down,” Cato hushes him. “I want this done as quickly as possible.”

 

It’s easy to sneak up on her, especially when she’s lying there defenseless and half-asleep. Cato studies her prone form; all he has to do is unsheathe his sword and drive it through her stomach.

 

Glimmer, of course, would much rather put on a show. She grabs a handful of pebbles and throws them at the girl—she’s the District 8 tribute—startling her awake. “Good morning, dear.”

 

The girl whimpers. She pleads for their mercy even if it’s useless to do so. Cato supposes that if begging someone for your life keeps you alive for a wee bit longer, then it’s almost perfectly natural to resort to it. “Please don’t! Oh god, oh god, please don’t!”

 

He doesn’t want to take responsibility for another pathetic kill. Instead, he nods at Glimmer, silently ordering her to finish the job. There is a scream; it is followed by a flash of silver—from the curved blade of a sickle that Glimmer has claimed—and then nothing save for a corpse and the stench of blood.

 

Marvel lets out a hoot. “Eleven down and twelve to go!”

 

“Check her for supplies,” Cato says gruffly. “Although I hardly think she has anything worth keeping.”

 

He’s right about that. Marvel declares her items useless before getting back on his feet.

 

“Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking,” Cato tells them. “I’m starving and I want a big, hearty breakfast in me before we plan our next move.”

 

They haven’t gone far when he realizes something peculiar. “Shouldn’t we have heard a cannon by now? It’s easier to keep track of the deaths now, so they should know that she’s dead by now.”

 

“I’d say yes,” Marvel says slowly. “Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately.”

 

Cato snorts. “Unless she isn’t dead.”

 

“She’s dead!” Glimmer says defensively. “I stuck her myself.”

 

“Then where’s the cannon?” Cato rakes a hand through his hair. “Someone should go back. Make sure the job’s done.”

 

“Yeah,” Marvel agrees. “We don’t want to have to track her down twice.”

 

“I say she’s dead!” Glimmer insists.

 

Almost instantly, an argument breaks out between the two from District 1. Cato is highly tempted to strangle them both and finish the job himself. It would have been easier if he’d gone out alone or brought just Clove along for the journey.

 

The sound of a new voice startles them all. “You’re wasting time. I’ll go finish her myself if that’s what it takes for you to move on from this stupidity.”

 

Peeta Mellark is leaning against one of the trees, looking well-rested and unafraid. What was he thinking, walking into the path of a group of Careers alone and unarmed?

 

Marvel points his spear at the boy. “Well, it looks like I’m going to be taking the credit for _your_ death, Loverboy.”

 

“Put your weapon down, Marvel,” Cato orders, surprising both of his companions. “Whether he lives or not is not of utmost importance to me right now.” He fishes a knife out of its holster from his thigh and offers it to Peeta, the blade facing towards him in a gesture of good will. “Use this. I’ll go with you just to check if you’re true to your word. Glimmer, Marvel, you stay right here.”

 

He steps aside and motions for Peeta to lead the way back to the girl’s makeshift camp. They walk together in stony silence; Cato is grateful for the short distance. A few yards further and he would have almost felt the compulsion to make some polite conversation.

 

He’s right about the District 8girl not being dead yet. She’s lying on her side, breathing noisily into a small pool of her own blood.

 

He really should have done this himself.

 

“What did your blonde groupie do, puncture a lung?” Peeta is shaking his head. “She’s bound to die, yes, but this is only going to prolong her agony.”

 

“I should have done this myself,” Cato mutters. “I like my kills quick and clean. I don’t like having anything to worry about when I walk away.”

 

Peeta plunges the knife into the back of her neck, killing her instantly. “That makes two of us, then.”

 

They stand there in silence for a few moments, not quite meeting each other’s eyes. It’s only when Cato hears the hovercraft that he moves away from the area, gesturing for Peeta to follow him.

 

“For a baker’s boy, you’re sure not afraid of using that knife,” Cato remarks. “It looks like you did pretty alright on the first day, too.”

 

Peeta chuckles self-deprecatingly. “I ran as soon as I stepped off the plate. How does that make me alright?”

 

“It makes you smart,” Cato answers. “You know what you can do and what you can’t, so you made a wise decision and opted to flee to ensure your survival. Those tributes that we killed yesterday? They knew we were stronger than they were, but they chose to make a desperate attempt, anyway.”

 

“You’re wrong,” Peeta says quietly. “They knew they had no chance of ever making it out alive, so they chose the easiest way to die, instead—a quick blow or two to the head at your hands.”

 

Cato pauses to stare at him. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

 

“To tell you the truth, I have no idea,” Peeta admits. “I’m just…going with the flow—sticking out as long as I can while doing all this on my own terms.”

 

“I like your style. In some ways, you’re not hiding anything, either.”

 

Cato surprises them both by holding out his hand. “Welcome to the Careers, Peeta Mellark.”

 

Truth be told, he can’t help but feel a little more surprised when Peeta accepts his handshake.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The reactions to Peeta’s presence at camp are just what he expects.

 

“Are you insane, Cato?” Clove is red-faced and livid. “Why did you bring him here? We don’t need another weakling dragging us down? We should just kill him and get it over with.”

 

“Let him tag along,” Cato says nonchalantly, reaching for an apple. “What’s the harm? And he’s handy with a knife. Apple, Peeta?”

 

“Uhm, thanks, I guess.” Peeta accepts the apple from him. “Are you sure this isn’t poisoned?”

 

Cato grins around a mouthful of apple. “I’m still alive, aren’t I? And really, a poisoned apple? Where ever did you get such a funny idea?”

 

“It’s from a fairytale,” Peeta replies. “There was an evil queen who wanted to kill her stepdaughter because her magic mirror kept telling her that she wasn’t the fairest one in the land, so she disguised herself as an old beggar and fed the apple to the girl. It’s a good strategy, though; people will eventually go hungry, so the sight of a juicy apple wouldn’t make them think twice before picking it up.”

 

“It’s more your style, though,” Cato points out. “You’re the one who’s good with arts and crafts. Me? I’d rather go out there and stick them all with the pointy end.”

 

He can feel everyone’s eyes on him. Come to think of it, he had wanted nothing to do with Peeta Mellark earlier on. The boy wasn’t particularly skilled at anything except for camouflage and super strength, but Cato knows what he can do with a knife now. Plus, Peeta has a good head on his shoulders; for some reason, he’s much easier to talk to than the rest of the people in his group.

 

He’s also their best chance of finding Katniss.

 

Clove shoots him a dirty look and makes a show of sharpening her knife on a thick leather strap from her sponsor. “I hope you don’t think we’ll be letting your girlfriend join the club, too, Loverboy.”

 

“Don’t call me that, alright?” Peeta sighs. “And leave her out of this for now. She’s not dangling herself in front of your face asking to be killed right now, so she doesn’t matter just yet.”

 

Marvel plops down on the ground across from Cato. “I don’t suppose you’ll be telling us what she did to get that eleven from the Gamemakers.”

 

“Of course not,” Peeta replies, “it’s her secret, and I don’t tattle. And just in case you’re wondering what I did to get that eight, I threw stuff around while feeling like a complete moron.”

 

Cato’s biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing out loud. Peeta’s surprisingly okay for a non-confrontational type who stays home and decorates cakes.

 

“What are we supposed to do today, though?” the girl from four asks. “Are any of you going back out there to hunt today? Because there are twelve of us still left.”

 

Cato can almost smell the fear in her voice. As soon as they finish off whoever is still out there, the Capitol is going to expect them to start turning against each other. But if they sit here and do nothing, the Gamemakers will find a way to get them to start hacking at each other again.

 

It’s either that, or they’ll kill the tributes themselves with some man-made disaster.

 

“We’re going out to hunt after we freshen up,” he says, “and by ‘we’, I mean each and every single one of us. Is that clear?”

 

No one disagrees with him. They know what he’s capable of when he’s livid.

 

Glimmer, who’s in charge of the food, passes their rations around. One of District 1’s sponsors sent them a tureen of shredded turkey, so they divide it up among the people in their group and eat it along with their bread and some nuts. It’s not as grand as what they had been fed in the Capitol, but it’s more than enough. Peeta, who admits he didn’t eat at all yesterday, is especially ravenous.

 

“I’m terrible when it comes to holding my hunger,” he says. “I always had something to eat because my parents own a bakery, so I was well-provided for. The people from the Seam area are the ones who struggle with rationing what little food they have. The kids from those families almost always sign up for tesserae just so they can get a little extra.”

 

“Well, we’re going to be fine as long as our supplies last,” Marvel says. “I think this can last us for another two weeks—as long as the Capitol doesn’t touch it, at least.”

 

“If they’re bored, they will,” Clove remarks. She seems to have momentarily gotten over her annoyance at Peeta’s arrival. “Or maybe they’ll wash us all away with another flood just so they can watch us struggle before we die. No matter which district you come from, it’s all the same in the end, anyway. District 2 may be the most loyal, but the Gamemakers can open up a pit of vipers below Cato or me anytime they want.”

 

Cato can only hope he’s staring straight into a camera. Regardless of whether they’ll decide to whip him when he comes back, he needs them to hear this. “They’re the only ones who don’t suffer from this. It’s all fun and games for them and we’re the ones who take the fall.”

 

“I wonder if they’re censoring the audio,” Peeta says. “They don’t like us knowing about each other if we’re from different districts, and I basically told you a mouthful.”

 

“The ground hasn’t swallowed you up yet, so you’ll be alright for now,” Glimmer points out. “I was forbidden by my parents to say anything about the Capitol when I was a little girl. In District 1, they make it out to us as if it’s some sort of paradise. I used to dream about marrying someone from the Capitol just so I could move there and live the way they do. I still want to believe it’s a good place.”

 

“Think what you wish, Glimmer,” Cato scowls. “It’s different for us—we’re not here to look pretty because we’re here to bring honor to our district. We volunteer not because we’re eager to kill; we volunteer because we believe we can fight. This is why we’re so obsessed with winning.”

 

“You make killing look so easy, though,” Peeta remarks casually. “But maybe that’s what makes the rest of us fear the Hunger Games less—come across a Career, get a knife between your eyes and it’s all over. On the rare occasions that the victor comes from another district, the story plays out a little differently. Remember Titus from District 6? I don’t remember if he was a victor, but obviously, he stayed alive long enough to start eating his fellow tributes. Some of us from the poorer districts are so livid with the way things are that we can’t help but want to do as much damage as we can just to satisfy that anger a little. You guys, on the other hand, are so well-cared for thanks to your loyalty that you don’t make things worse than they already are. I think that’s pretty admirable.”

 

“Well, you just made Cato sound good,” Clove says with a snicker. “Sadly, that’s not my style. Think me crazy if you must, but I like letting people know that I’m not just some girl from two. I’m not just going to fall over and die for some lame reason. If I’m going to die, I want it to be a glorious death—the kind that will make people remember who I am and why I fought so hard to stay alive. And if I have to be the crazy girl for them to remember me, then that’s the game I’m going to play until the very end.”

 

“Did you just outright admit that you’re embracing the possibility of dying in the Games?” Glimmer asks her in disbelief.

 

“I could,” Clove replies calmly. “Anyone—any of you, even—can just kill me out of the blue. The same goes for the rest of you. Just because you’re at a clear advantage doesn’t mean you’ll win. Also, you must be forgetting the most important rule: only one person can win. Only one can come out of this _alive_.”

 

“There’s no use pretending that everything’s going to be hunky-dory just because of this temporary team effort,” Cato adds. “This summer camp fantasy isn’t going to last forever. The real fight hasn’t even begun. Sure, we’ve killed plenty of others thanks to this joint effort, but eventually, we’re going to have to turn on each other. This—whatever it is—isn’t about friendship; it’s a strategy, just like everything else.”

 

He finishes off the last of his sandwich as quickly as he can, abandoning his spot on the ground for his post atop the Cornucopia. He doesn’t feel like looking at any of these people right now. All this time, he’s been reminding himself that he’s going to have to kill them at some point, so he’s never felt the compulsion to become attached. Of all the people in the group, Clove is probably the only one who has a bit of a hold on whatever’s left of his conscience just because he’s known her since they were children.

 

There’s a tap on the wall of the Cornucopia. “Mind if I sit up here with you? I don’t feel like sitting with your groupies right now; they might just take what you said to heart and start butchering me.”

 

“You won’t be any safer in my company, but hey, it’s your funeral.”

 

“You wouldn’t kill me,” Peeta Mellark says matter-of-factly as he hauls himself up. “Not right now, at least. I’m more use to you alive because you’re secretly hoping I’ll tell you where Katniss is.”

 

“And why would I be interested in your sweetheart?” Cato glares at him. “If I were you, I’d be off in the woods calling her name like some needy Prince Charming in order to have the sponsors running to your aid. Who knows, maybe they’ll send you a blimp with a ‘Just Married’ sign just so you can float out of the arena together—fat chance, though.”

 

“That’s never going to happen,” Peeta agrees. “Besides, even if they do manage to send us a blimp, the Gamemakers will find a way to pop it so that we’ll be sent crashing to the ground. Also, of all things, why a blimp? Isn’t that what people use to advertise stuff?”

 

Cato shrugs. “I’m not romantic at all, so how should I know? Besides, it’s not like I ever took time out of my busy schedule to woo a girl or two.”

 

“These are the kinds of conversations we should be having,” Peeta sighs. “We should be talking about girls and adventures and…I don’t know, getting as drunk as we can? We’re _sixteen_.”

 

“Which is more than old enough to die in the kind of society we live in,” Cato says wryly. “It’s the only childhood we know. The only childhood our parents knew. The only childhood our kids will know.”

 

“We could change it, you know?” Peeta flops onto his back to stare at the sky. The sun is hanging over the Cornucopia like a bright piece of a giant mobile, mocking their not-so-pleasant moods. “I keep telling myself that when I have kids someday, I’d like them to live in a world where they can enjoy playing in the streets without worrying about being reaped for the Hunger Games each year.”

 

“What are you going to do, move to the Capitol?” Cato snorts. “That’s impossible, Peeta—except in your dreams, maybe. In order for that to happen, we’re going to have to stage a revolt—find a way to infiltrate the Capitol and kill Snow.”

 

He knows he’s pushing the envelope by saying that. Still, no bullet has come whizzing through the air designed to blow his brains to bits.

 

Maybe there’s hope, still.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The wall of fire strikes shortly before sundown.

 

They had decided to go out hunting again just in case they would come across more people to dispose of. Not surprisingly, the others seemed to feel that it was smartest to put as much distance between themselves and the other tributes as they could, so the Careers had no luck that afternoon. Cato had just been about to suggest that they call it a day when a giant wall of fire had suddenly come up, effectively blocking their way back to the Cornucopia.

 

It failed to catch Cato completely by surprise; he knows that the Hunger Games is one big Capitol-orchestrated festival—everything here is rigged.

 

“Get down!” he yells, ducking just in time to stop himself from being fried to a crisp by a giant fireball. “The fire is being engineered to come from all sorts of directions, so you have to stay alert and keep moving!”

 

“I told you they were going to get bored!” Clove shouts from somewhere to his left. “There have been no deaths since the girl from eight, so they’re making sure the rest of us run into each other or die trying!”

 

Cato pulls the lapel of his jacket over his nose in an attempt to prevent himself from breathing in the smoke. Their lungs aren’t built to function properly in such situations; he recognizes this as a clear disadvantage because the overall impact of this new world order will impair everyone’s breathing. The Gamemakers probably thought that it was time to shake up their universe a little because they had become too comfortable and too complacent for the Capitol’s tastes. Not only are they in danger of getting burned in this kind of environment, there’s a danger of dying by suffocation as well.

 

It’s an easy way of taking out the weaker players to make the Games more intense. It’s also a surefire—god, he needs to stop thinking in puns—way of bringing them together.

 

He’s running for his life and looking in all directions for a tree to climb or something fairly solid to hide under, but there seems to be no escape from the monsters that have taken the shape of flames.

 

If Cato believed in hell, this was what it might have looked like to him.

 

He has no idea where he is supposed to go now. For certain, the Gamemakers want to drive them somewhere, but right now, it’s next to impossible to find that place. He’s lost track of some of his allies, too; he can sense Clove and Peeta running nearby, but the whereabouts of the rest are questionable. From time to time, he hears screams that sound like they could belong to Glimmer, but he’s not too sure. The fire and the smoke are driving him half-mad; he wants to throw up every single thing he’s ate since the launch because he feels like he can’t breathe.

 

It only registers in his head that the flames have disappeared when he stumbles over his own foot and falls gracelessly into a shallow pool. Grateful for the reprieve, he plunges his head into the water and greedily gulps down whatever he can. Thankfully, his burns are all minor—nothing the medicine they have available at camp can’t handle.

 

“…is anyone still alive?” he manages to croak out.

 

Peeta falls into the a few inches away to him. “I’d say barely, but that’s just because I’m gasping for breath. Also, boring the Gamemakers is a really bad idea.”

 

“We should keep moving,” he hears Clove say. She and Marvel pull him roughly to his feet while the District 3 boy and the District 4 girl do the same for Peeta. Glimmer is in the water as well, hastily scrubbing at her soot-covered cheeks.

 

Once again, it seems like the makeshift alliance is here to stay.

 

“Let’s get ourselves cleaned up first,” Marvel suggests. “Check yourselves for injuries, too—burns are awful things and should be treated as soon as possible.”

 

Cato begins to pace around the shallow area a little, making sure he has no major pains that will hinder his mobility. He doesn’t quite understand how they’re all doing fairly alright for victims of such a life-threatening machination. He had been expecting to hear several cannons by now.

 

“…unless it wasn’t us they were intentionally attacking,” he murmurs, “which means there is someone else out here that they wanted to push towards us.”

 

He leaves his team to wash up and dress whatever small wounds they have to investigate the perimeter of the pool, absolutely certain that he was going to find someone.

 

Still, he doesn’t expect it to be _her_.

 

He hasn’t seen her since she disappeared into the woods during the bloodbath. She had looked lovely, then—strong, swift and graceful. Now, she’s dirty and sooty lying on the bank with a bloody leg half-submerged in the water. He’s about to turn back with the full intention of leaving her alone—he refuses to fight her when she’s clearly incapacitated—when Glimmer comes up from behind him and says, “Good job, Cato! You found our little girl on fire.”

 

Almost immediately, Katniss gets to her feet and dives into the underbrush. Glimmer and the others, who have been alerted by the sound of her voice, hurtle after her like a pack of hyenas chasing their prey. Cato and Peeta, who is clearly not in the mood to hunt down his sweetheart, take up the rear. Cato can’t think properly right now; there’s no way he will be able to take the other Careers’ attention off Katniss when she’s such an easy kill at the moment. However, she’s awfully quick-witted and chooses to climb a tree, not stopping until she’s at least twenty feet above them. They’re staring at each other while trying to catch their breaths, them and her. Cato’s almost certain she’s frightened—it’s impossible not to be in a situation like this—but it doesn’t show on her face.  

 

She suddenly breaks out into a smile, though. And she’s smiling right at him.

 

“How’s everything with you?” she asks.

 

He’s a little taken aback, but he’s aware of how much the Capitol is going to love this little banter. It’s time to pull a few tricks from his sleeve. “Well enough. Yourself?”

 

She makes a show of unzipping her half-burnt jacket. “It’s been a bit warm for my taste,” she says, sounding almost flirtatious. “The air’s better up here. Why don’t you come on up?”

 

The memories of their hasty coupling come rushing back to him. It’s all he can do to resist the urge to wrench her down from her lofty perch and fuck her again in front of the cameras for the whole of Panem to see. He smirks at her and licks his lips, reaching for the nearest branch. “Think I will.”

 

“Here, take this, Cato,” Glimmer says, offering him the silver bow and the arrows she procured from the Cornucopia. Cato doesn’t miss the way Katniss’ eyes widen at the sight of the weapons; if he looks like he wants to grab her, she looks like she wants to throttle Glimmer to make a grab the bow.

 

He laughs out loud in triumph; he can’t help it. He has something she actually wants.

 

“No,” he says, deliberately keeping them out of her reach. “I’ll do better with my sword.”

 

Double entendres. Cato never thought he could be such a big fan of them until today.

 

He immediately regrets putting on that bulk of muscle before leaving for the Capitol; he’s far too heavy to make it to where she is. She seems to be taunting him, as she climbs even higher when she sees that he’s made it to the second tier alright. It infuriates him how he’s good at mostly everything else but completely pants at something as simple as tree climbing.

 

The branch snaps under his weight, causing him to hit the ground. Hard.

 

“Mother of _fuck_!”

 

“Quit swearing like a brute and let me do it!” Glimmer insists. “I’m much lighter than you are—I don’t understand why you even rose to her challenge in the first place, anyway.”

 

Cato gets back on his feet to dust himself off. Glimmer’s attempt, however, also proves to be futile. When the branches begin to crack under her feet, she stops and tries to shoot Katniss with the bow instead. It’s almost embarrassing on their part to be outwitted by this girl; she grabs Glimmer’s arrow from the bark it catches on and holds it above her head like a prize.

 

Clove is livid. “Someone do something! She’s right there, ripe for the taking!”

 

“And what, continue to make ourselves look stupid?” Cato glares at her. “Night is falling; our window of attack on her has already closed.”

 

“Oh, let her stay up there,” Peeta says exasperatedly. “It’s not like she’s going anywhere. We’ll deal with her in the morning.”

 

Peeta’s right. Cato saw how bad the burn in her leg is—with an injury like that and with a pack of Careers below her, Katniss Everdeen has no chance of making it back down to the ground alive. He can’t see her from where he is—she’s about seventy or eighty feet high—but he knows she’s in terrible pain. Around him, the rest of his allies are already beginning to set up a makeshift camp. Clove is outright refusing to go back to the Cornucopia. She doesn’t want a potential kill to go to someone else.

 

“Stop looking into the trees, Cato.” Peeta sounds amused. “You won’t be able to see her from here. Plus, the people will think you’re obsessed or something.”

 

“Your fans must be pissed at you right now,” Cato shoots back. “They must think you’re insane for not turning wild on us and scrambling up that tree to save her life.”

 

“You’re the one who saved her, Cato,” Peeta says in a low voice. “By denying Clove the chance to chase after her, you gave Katniss a chance. And she won’t forget that.”

 

He saved her at the Cornucopia, too. But Peeta doesn’t need to know that.

 

“…do you really love her?” he asks Peeta quietly.

 

The expression on Peeta’s face in inscrutable in the firelight. “What do you think?”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Cato wakes up to the sound of screams. There’s an open nest on the ground and the tracker jackers that have burst from it do not look happy to see them.

 

“To the lake!” he hears Marvel shout. “To the lake!”

 

Cato abandons his pack and bolts, Peeta and Clove tailing him closely. This is like running from the fire again, but ten times worse. Tracker jackers are one of the Capitol’s mutations that were placed around the districts during the war. People can’t tolerate more than a few stings. Most of them die on contact, which is probably a better fate than living with the hallucinations the poison brings. Cato’s busy pulling out the stingers as he runs—he can count at least two. He’s dizzy from the venom.

 

He seems to have made a wrong turn somewhere, as he finds himself back to where he came from. Glimmer’s body is on the ground near the nest; it doesn’t take a scientist to know that she’s already dead. Gone is the beautiful girl who shamelessly flirted with Cato each time she got the chance. She’s terribly disfigured now with boils all over her face and hands.

 

And there’s Katniss on the ground, desperately trying to pry the bow from her hands.

 

He’s probably hallucinating. He can blame this on the tracker jackers.

 

“Katniss,” he manages to croak, reaching out for her. “Break her fingers. They’re wrapped too tightly around the bow—you have to break her fingers.”

 

“What are you still doing here?” she hisses, her voice frantic. She’s being affected by the venom, too, he can tell. Her pupils are dilating. She can’t seem to focus on his face. “You should have gone to the lake! I don’t know if the wasps are going to return, but you shouldn’t risk it.”

 

He smiles faintly as he collapses on the ground next to Glimmer’s corpse. “I see your leg’s doing a lot better. That’s good—you’ve got decent sponsors.”

 

The cannon fires. This gets Katniss moving in a blind panic again. She tries to turn Glimmer over to retrieve the quiver of arrows, but the flesh disintegrates as soon as she touches it.

 

“I’ll turn her over,” Cato finds himself offering, grabbing what feels like Glimmer’s ribcage to turn her over on her stomach. “You take the arrows. I’ll break her fingers to get the bow.”

 

He can hear the hovercraft somewhere above them. He manages to unsheathe his sword to slice her fingers off—she’s a corpse now, not a girl—grabbing the bow and pressing it into Katniss’ shaking hands before leaning against the tree for support. He wants to sleep so badly now.

 

“We’ll be killed like this,” he hears Katniss say. “Imagine, the brutish wonder boy from two and the girl from twelve, dead together under the same tree. We must look so laughable right now.”

 

Cato reaches for her hand and squeezes it tightly in his. “It’s not such a bad way to go.”

 

He hears a rustle in the bushes. He braces himself, ready to be skewered or stabbed or whatever, but it’s not Marvel or Thresh or Clove. It’s Peeta. He drops his pack and crouches down next to Cato.

 

“What are you two still doing here?” he hisses. “Are you mad? Get up!” He’s pushing and prodding at Katniss, too. “Get up! Run! _Run_!”

 

Marvel appears from behind Peeta, spear poised and ready for throwing. So Cato does the only thing he can do. He grabs his sword and lunges at Peeta.

 

“I am so sorry,” he whispers, drawing the blade across Peeta’s calf, making him scream out in agony. It’s going to make a terrible injury. Peeta won’t be able to walk, much less run. But it’s the only thing Cato can do to save his life.

 

He turns to Marvel, putting on what is hopefully his most savage face. “See that? He’s helpless. He’s no longer a threat. He can barely move. Your fight is with me now. Right now, I’m giving you the chance to run, so you’d better take it. I’ll give you a headstart—twelve hours, tops—and then I’ll come after you. You tell that to Clove, too. Or whichever tribute who’s still willing to make like a happy camper. But me? I’m done. So you’d better run with your tail tucked between your legs, little boy.”

 

He barely has time to register the look of fear on Marvel’s face before the other boy bolts in the opposite direction. Exhausted, he falls to his knees on the ground, his face caked with mud.

 

It’s only when he’s about to black out that he realizes he’s crying.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

If he’s twitching or thrashing around in his sleep, he can blame it on the venom. Tracker jackers were designed to punish people by driving them mad with the poison from their stings before killing them. The venom creeps into one’s system in such a way that it amplifies your greatest fears and forces you to live through them again and again in a dream-like state.

 

The worst thing about being scared is not having a name to scream out in your moment of need. Cato doesn’t feel right screaming for his father or his mentors. He’d be disappointing them that way because he was strictly instructed not to show any weakness in any situation. It would kill him to beg his mother for help; she’s already lost what little life she had when she miscarried. Those are the scenes that are playing in his head like a series of film reels, though; failure has always been his greatest fear.

 

Peeta’s leaning over him now, looking concerned. Cato can’t help but wonder why he’s worried about the person who just about hacked his leg off; even Peeta Mellark can’t be capable of that much kindness.

 

“You’re finally awake,” the other boy says, relief evident in his voice. “Thank _fuck_. It’s been two days; Rue and I were getting worried. Now, if only Katniss would wake up, too.”

 

There’s a warm weight on Cato’s chest. He peers down to see Katniss’ head pillowed on him. They’re both lying in a shallow hole full of dead leaves. Somehow, in that fitful bout of sleep, his hand had managed to grasp hers.

 

“It’s almost as if you had never let her go,” Peeta is saying, his tone laced with amusement. “That’s how I found you guys before Marvel burst in—nice job scaring him off, by the way.”

 

He doesn’t sound like he’s in pain. He doesn’t sound like he’s angry, either. Which parts of his last remaining conscious moments had been hallucinations due to the spreading venom?

 

“Has anyone else died?” he manages to croak out. “Aside from Glimmer, I mean.”

 

“Just the girl from District 4,” Peeta replies. “She died from the stings, too. I had this fear that I was going to end up passing out, too, but Rue here was kind enough to help me out.”

 

It’s only then that Cato notices the small, doe-eyed girl from eleven sitting next to Peeta. She ducks her head shyly as soon as she feels his gaze on her.

 

“He’s not going to hurt you, Rue,” Peeta assures her. “None of us are. The Careers aren’t the only ones who can form alliances, you know. As soon as Katniss wakes up, we can think of our next move.”

 

Cato suddenly realizes the impact of his rash actions. He’s successfully broken off his alliance with the rest of the Careers, which means that they’ll be going after him now. Clove won’t be sparing him any kind thoughts this time around; she’ll be too angry about him leaving the group so early in the games because he chose to protect Katniss and Peeta. This means they won’t be able to return to the Cornucopia to replenish their supplies, either. Clove and the other would have laid claim to it by now, and the District 3 boy could have been re-activated the landmines.

 

“We’re in a very unfortunate situation here,” he says hollowly. “The Careers have everything in the Cornucopia at their disposal, so there’s no way they’re going to go hungry or suffer a shortage in terms of weapons and medicine. I assume they’re already managed to activate the landmines.”

 

“But they’ve been stung by the tracker jackers, too,” little Rue speaks up. “To fully heal the wounds, you have to pull out the stingers and rub these leaves on your skin. Unless you’ve been taught how to do that at the academy, they’ll be in pretty bad shape.”

 

“To tell you the truth, I haven’t the faintest idea on how to treat such wounds,” Cato admits, absent-mindedly picking at one of the leaves Rue must have placed on his stings. “If that’s the case, there’s a slim chance that they’ll know how to. I should thank you for saving my life, though—you too, Peeta. I know now that it takes real courage to save someone because it’s so easy just to leave people to die.”

 

“Who are you and what have you done with Cato?” a hoarse voice asks. “That speech doesn’t sound like it could have come from you—maybe I’m still hallucinating.”

 

“That’s Cato in the flesh, alright,” Peeta says with a grin. “He’s not bad once you get to know him. You doing okay, Katniss? I think you had a couple of more stings than he did.”

 

“I’ll live,” she says wryly. “Thanks for giving me the license to do so, though.”

 

“I played doctor and felt like a complete idiot,” Peeta replies. “We’re just lucky Rue here felt that it was alright to help me out. I was sitting there helplessly while staring at you two otters for a bit.”

 

Cato arches an eyebrow. “Otters?”

 

Rue giggles. “Peeta says he found you lying on the ground holding hands—that’s what otters do when they swim so they won’t be separated from each other. See? You’re doing it right now, too.”

 

Cato quickly lets go of Katniss’ hand. He’s hoping the cameras won’t be able to catch the blush that’s creeping up his cheeks, but he’s been having rotten luck with everything so far. He can’t look like a softie on national television; he had no intentions whatsoever of marketing himself this way.

 

“Actually, I think we’ll be just fine sitting around her for a while longer,” Peeta remarks. “Somehow, I don’t think the Capitol will be bored at all.”

 

“Nothing important,” Peeta says dismissively, obviously trying to bite back a smile. “Cato just gave me an excellent idea, though.”

 

Katniss glares at them both. “Whatever. Anyway, we need to get moving—or thinking. We can’t stay here and do nothing. If they find us here, we’ll be in big trouble. I don’t feel like directly dealing with the psychotic knife girl and her not-so-psychotic groupies right now; I’m so tired and hungry that I might just snap her neck in irritation if we end up crossing paths.”

 

“Isn’t that the idea?” Cato asks, amused. “Or maybe you have a better plan on how to proceed?”

 

“First, I need to know that I can trust you,” she responds. “The same goes for you, Peeta. You waltzed off to join the Careers at the first opportune moment; I can’t keep you in my good graces if you’re going to do that again. Rue, I have no qualms about forming an alliance with.”

 

“I turned on Marvel right in front of you, Katniss,” Cato declares. “I don’t know if you were coherent enough to process whatever the hell happened, but I chose to protect _you_. I could have gone the easy route and rejoined them, but I didn’t. It’s a big thing for a Career Tribute to sacrifice his bounty of supplies and his advantage over the others in the Games; I hope you understand that.”

 

“Sticking it out with us means doing it the hard way,” Katniss reminds him. “We don’t have much food or supplies, so we make do with what we have and rely on nature to keep us going.”

 

“Teach me how to hunt, then,” Cato says. “I know you’re handy with a bow—the way you were eyeing it during that tree incident was the ultimate tell-all. That was when I realized what you were hiding from us. That’s how you got your eleven, didn’t you?”

 

“I shot an arrow through an apple Seneca Crane was about to reach for,” she replies, looking almost proud of herself. “It was the apple in the pig’s mouth. Haymitch told me they liked my guts.”

 

Cato whistles appreciatively. “I would have given you a twelve.”

 

This time, it’s her turn to blush.

 

Peeta is eyeing them conspiratorially. Somehow, judging by the way his mind works, Cato thinks he’s going to make a good mentor someday.

 

“Maybe we’ll end up getting that blimp after all,” is all he says.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Cato finds that he could make a hobby out of watching the girl on fire do her thing. There is little to no food left among whatever remains of their combined supplies, so Katniss deemed it best that she scout around for some game before nightfall. Of course, Cato requested to tag along. He’s never gone hunting in his life—there had never been a need—and he can’t really deny that seeing Katniss in action sends chills of the good kind travelling down his spine.

 

“Technically, I’m not supposed to be an expert at all this,” Katniss is saying as she sets up her second out of three snares. “But food in District 12 is so scarce. My father used to take me out hunting—the bow I use back home is one of several that he made—for game that we could sell or trade at the Hob or take home to mother so we’d have something to eat. After he died in the mine explosion, I became the breadwinner for my family because my mother withdrew into this shell of who she used to be out of grief. My friend Gale and I knew that we could be caught and killed anytime, but it’s well worth the risk if you’ve a family to feed. I couldn’t just think of my own survival, you know?”

 

“I wish I could say I understand, but I don’t,” Cato admits, breaking off another twig for the third snare. “We don’t understand how it feels to go hungry in District 2—there was always food on our table. But this is what I can say: if District 12 had more tributes like you, they would have won more Games than the Careers. Sure, we’re trained to wield all sorts of weapons, but without our supplies, we’re pretty much fair game for everyone else. We’re like well-oiled machines manufactured by the Capitol, but once we’ve run out of fuel and spare parts, we’re useless.”

 

“We should be in trouble right now,” she says with a wry grin. “They don’t like us learning things about the districts outside where we’re from.”

 

“I know,” Cato agrees. “But somehow, being here doesn’t scare me as much. We’re in this giant bubble where we actually have to fear for our lives. It makes the real world seem so far away.”

 

“I like how you don’t lie,” Katniss says quietly. “You may be full of yourself—which is understandable, really—but you’re brutally honest about everything. That’s where your real strength lies, Cato. That is also why I feel that I can actually trust you. If you were to kill me, you’d come at me straight on. You wouldn’t attack me while my back is turned or while I sleep. That’s pretty respectable.”

 

“That’s because I know you’re capable of fighting back,” Cato replies. “But if I had to kill any other tribute, I’d do it as quickly as possible to avoid drama. This is the first time I’m seeing actual human suffering with my own eyes, so it unnerves me a little to have to do what I do. I don’t think there’s any crime in making things easier for my victims and by extension, myself.”

 

As soon as the snares are set, Katniss tells him to get to his feet so that they can hunt for game. Cato’s seen a few animals here and there, but he has no idea what meat is edible and what could bring them to their deathbeds. Fortunately, Katniss knows what she’s doing. She’s fast and quiet, making sure not to startle her possible targets. Cato feels that he can be of some use to her if they encounter creatures on the ground, but if they’re airborne, he’s going to leave things up to her superb archery skills.

 

“I think I hear something,” she whispers, her eyes bright with excitement. “We don’t know for sure what it is yet—I’d hate to creep up on a muttation—so we’ll have to be careful. Can you throw some pebbles at that bush over there? That way I’ll be ready to shoot if necessary.”

 

“On the count of three, then?” Cato agrees, rolling the rocks in his palm. “One, two, three!”

 

A flock of birds—they look a little like turkeys—scuttle out from behind the bush in surprise. Before they manage to run off, Katniss manages to skewer one straight through the eye with an arrow.

 

“You’re really precise, aren’t you?” Cato marvels, pulling the arrow out from the bird’s eye before giving it to Katniss for cleaning. “You’re a one-hit killer just like me—we’d make a dangerous team.”

 

“I challenge you to bring your share of the bacon back to camp,” she smirks at him, hosting the turkey-like thing over her shoulder. “This kill has my name written all over it.”

 

He smirks back. “Just watch me. I may be shit at climbing trees, but I’m excellent with a sword.”

 

“I better make sure you won’t be eating your words, then,” she responds with a playful punch to his shoulder. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be bested by a girl who’s ace at climbing trees.”

 

“You’re the one woman I wouldn’t mind losing anything to,” he says with a roguish wink. “But all the same, I’d rather have you reluctantly lauding my achievements. I like winning as much as you do, girl on fire.”

 

“If you catch us a squirrel, I might be so kind as to never mention how awful you are at climbing trees—wait, scratch that. I won’t mention it in front of other people, but I’ll mercilessly tease you about it when we’re alone together. Do we have ourselves a deal?”

 

“My pride in exchange for a dead squirrel. I think two can play at this game, Everdeen.”

 

At the end of the day, it’s Katniss who ends up impressed when Cato manages to catch not one but two squirrels. He supposes he’s done a pretty good job for someone who’s pants at tree climbing.

 

“Did I ever tell you who sent that nest of wasps crashing down on you guys?” she asks him on their way back to their makeshift camp.

 

“No.”

 

“It was me,” she replies with a grin.

 

He grins back. “That’s my clever girl.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Dinner is a surprisingly peaceful affair. They roast the groosling—that’s what the turkey-like birds are called, he learns—over a small fire and divide the bird among themselves. Katniss is generous enough to spare another leg for Rue, who quietly admits that she’s never had a whole leg to herself before. It’s only then that they learn of how unfortunate District 11 really is. Cato had always thought that since they grew the grain, they had their fair share of food. Apparently, they don’t get to keep what they grow. They get whipped in public as punishment if they’re caught eating any of the crops.

 

“No wonder they don’t want us to find out about each other,” Cato mutters. “Information is a very powerful thing. Once a small seed of information is planted in a person’s head, that seed is going to blossom into an idea, and ideas are very, very dangerous. We’re being mistreated in different ways and they don’t want us going around sharing what knowledge we have because it can stir up all sorts of emotions. When people are emotional, they’re capable of staging a revolution.”

 

“They’re going to punish us all over again at the slightest sign of rebellion, though,” Katniss points out. “I don’t know how they’re going to come up with anything worse than the Games, but they’ll find a way to show us that they wield absolute power for sure.”

 

“We’re going to have to take a stand in our own small ways, then,” Peeta says with a shrug. “Out there, we can’t do anything, but in here, we have a certain power over the Capitol. We’re contestants in this fucked-up reality show that they hold every sodding year; they see whatever we do and hear whatever they say. What do we do in here to get their attention? We get them to _like_ us. We give them something to root for.”

 

Katniss snorts. “You’re beginning to sound like Haymitch. What do you have in mind, oh great Peeta?”

 

“Actually, I don’t even have to tell you,” Peeta replies smoothly, reaching into the bed of leaves to pull out a small parachute. It’s a present from a sponsor. “This came for Cato while you two were out hunting. There’s a funny little note from your mentor, too.”

 

“You mean Brutus still deems me worthy of sponsors after what I’ve done?” Cato is skeptical. He reaches for the package and unfolds the note. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? It says, ‘Whatever the fuck it is you’re doing, it’s working like a charm. Make sure you rub it on her—that’ll make the crowd go wild.’ Glad to know you care, Brutus. But what’s this about rubbing? And who’s ‘her’?”

 

Inside the container are medicines to ease the swelling of the stingers. They had begun to throb that afternoon, which made Cato feel rather uncomfortable. As soon as the swelling goes down, he knows he’ll be back in tip-top shape.

 

“I’ll give you one chance to guess what brought that on,” Peeta says with a grin. “It was going to be my strategy, but you executed it even more flawlessly than I ever could have.”

 

Rue’s eyes sparkle. Cato’s afraid she’s going to swoon. “It was the hand-holding, wasn’t it?”

 

“Don’t tell me we’ve become the new star-crossed lovers of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games?” Katniss is incredulous. “Because this is just insane! We can’t just parade ourselves like a pair of lovebirds! This goes against everything I ever intended—”

 

Katniss may be brilliant when it comes to details, but sometimes, she gets so absorbed by them and ends up completely missing the big picture. So, with the intention of playing their trump card to their full advantage, Cato wraps an arm around her waist and presses a kiss to her lips.

 

“There’s no use keeping things private when the cameras are on us all the time now, isn’t there?”

 

“Cato!” Katniss wrenches away from him. “What the heck are you thinking?”

 

“A million things,” Cato replies. “Mostly things that can’t be televised for people below the ages of eighteen—says the sixteen-year-old—should not be seeing on national television. May I have a word?”

 

He doesn’t wait for her to respond. Instead, he pulls her to around to the back of a large tree, making sure he’s holding her as if he loves her. He wraps an arm around her waist and strategically tucks her face against his neck, shielding her confused face from the cameras.

 

“What are you doing?” she hisses.

 

“Making the world believe that I’m head over heels in love with you,” he says in a voice so low that the cameras won’t be able to pick it up. “That’s why they sent the medicine, Katniss—they liked what they saw back there after the tracker jacker attack. To them, this is going to be more interesting than the star-crossed lovers from District 12. You have a Career from a wealthy district most loyal to the Capitol and the girl on fire from the less affluent twelve—it’s terribly cliché, but that’s why they’re buying it.” He slides his hand underneath her shirt to stroke the bare strip of skin at her hipbone. “If we keep this up, we’re going to get out of this okay. We’re going to be able to fight back”

 

“Yeah, but that’s just temporary.” Katniss shivers beneath his touch. “What are we going to do when they’re all dead and we have to kill each other?”

 

Cato sees this as an opportune moment to gain sympathy. He wants them to hear what he has to say next. “Then I’m giving you the license to put an arrow through my heart. But it has to be _you_.”

 

“No!” Katniss says indignantly. “You can’t just tell me all these things and then ask me to kill you. It’s not fair, Cato! You don’t get to do this to me.”

 

Cato feels his heart leap in his chest at the impact of her words. She doesn’t sound like she’s faking; she doesn’t look as if she’s doing this just for show. So he’ll do what he can do to comfort them both. He’ll hold her just because he can.

 

“But nothing’s ever fair, Katniss,” he says quietly. “You know what they say—only one comes out. Think of your sister and the promise you made her. I want it to be you.”

 

She shakes her head and presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat. “I want it to be _you_. You could do good things for this fucked up society; you’re not as ignorant as I thought you were. You just have to promise me that you won’t forget District 12—that you’ll think of Prim and Peeta and Gale.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” he says. “There are still others out there. We need to find a way to put the Careers at a disadvantage.”

 

“Right,” she agrees, her voice hoarse. “One day at a time?”

 

He smiles grimly in response. “One day at a time.”

 

He does what he can do to comfort them both. He’ll hold her just because he can.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The cannons go off twice at two separate intervals the following day. That same night, they find out that the first blast had been for the District 10 boy with the bad leg; it’s amazing how far he’s managed to make it with that disability slowing him down. The second death is the boy from four, the tribute whose life Cato had spared on the first day. He wonders which pair of hands brought an end to that boy’s life. Are they Clove’s? Marvel’s? Or perhaps some other tribute’s?

 

He’s glad they don’t flash game statistics here. There are some things he’d rather not know.

 

On the bright side, his luck seems to be back in play now. The swelling has gone down completely thanks to the medicine from the Capitol. He’d even made a show of rubbing it onto Katniss’ skin as Brutus had instructed. Although she’d agreed to the benefits of this charade, there were times when they had no idea how to interact with each other in fear of looking too conscious. Cato supposes he can blame his perpetual desire to ravish her each time they come into contact with each other; he can’t just have his way with her with Rue, Peeta and everything else around. She’d shared her sleeping bag with Rue for warmth, which came as a relief because he wouldn’t know how to restrain himself in such close quarters.  

 

The next morning finds Cato creating a miniature model of the Cornucopia using twigs, pebbles and dead leaves. If there’s one advantage that he has over the other Careers, it’s that he knows the Cornucopia like the back of his hand by now. He knows exactly where the District 3 boy planted the mines because Cato had been supervising him when he’d managed to re-activate the first two mines. Of course, there was always the chance that they would have deviated from the original plan, but mines are sensitive weapons and it would be too much trouble to move them around again. He was the one who left the camp most often to survey the nearby areas, so he knew the different routes one could take to enter it, too.

 

“What are you doing?” Katniss crouches down next to him, holding out a bit of bread that her own sponsor had sent earlier that day. “Breakfast?”

 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He accepts the bread with his teeth. “You said you wanted to cripple the Careers, right? Well, here’s a little something to help you envision your plan of attack.”

 

“After you finish your bread, please,” she jabs him playfully in the ribs.

 

“Didn’t know you were such a stickler for manners,” he says teasingly. “Anyway, this is a miniature replica of the Cornucopia’s layout as I remember it. These pebbles here symbolize the mines that the kid from three re-activated to defend the camp, so we’ve got to avoid them. What do you have in mind, anyway? We can’t sneak up on them while they’re in there; they would have the upper hand. My best suggestion is that we figure out a way to draw them out.”

 

“Oh, I don’t want to take over their little kingdom,” Katniss tells him. “I want to blow it up with the help of the mines. I could probably shoot at it with my arrows, but will blowing up one mine cause a chain reaction? I don’t think one will be enough to destroy everything.”

 

“We’ve got to draw them out of camp before we infiltrate, though,” Cato remarks. “We’ll have a much easier time dealing with one tribute than all three of them. I can’t even imagine taking on Clove and Marvel together. Thank fuck Glimmer’s already out of the picture.”

 

She gives him an amused look. “I thought she was the kind of girl you’d go for, you know?”

 

“Not my type,” he readily admits. “Sure, she was hot stuff and pretty adept with weapons that aren’t bows—but that was just about it. That’s not enough to genuinely attract me to a person—looks are a nice thing to have, but they don’t do you much good in the end. You’re the one who saw what happened to her face when she died. It’s like she wasn’t even the same person.”

 

Katniss sighs. “I did that to her.”

 

He squeezes her shoulder. “You did what you had to do.”

 

She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she leans her head against his shoulder and helps him complete his little diorama in comfortable silence. It’s pretty nice, whatever this is that they have. If he’d met Katniss under different circumstances, he feels they would have been quite happy together.

 

“We could use fire,” she suddenly says, “not just one, but three. As soon as the first one has been lit, whoever’s in charge can move on to the second to keep them running. And while they’re being led on a wild goose chase, I can figure out a way to blow up their supplies.”

 

“I should come with you,” Cato tells her. “I know that camp better than anyone, and you’ll need someone who’s handy with a non-ranged weapon to assist you.”

 

“And by that, you’re pertaining to yourself,” she says with a grin. “But yeah, I think we’ll turn out alright with that arrangement. Rue’s quick on her feet, so she can get the fires lit in no time. Peeta can back her up. I think we can do this, Cato.”

 

“We can,” he promises her. “And we will.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The problem with many things is that they are easier said than done. Although they’ve gone over the details of the plan several times, Cato can’t help but feel uneasy when he and Katniss part ways with their allies. For the most part, it’s going to be more difficult for them because they’ll be dealing with the explosives, but Peeta and Rue will be left to deal with the people, which can be just as dangerous.

 

As soon as Cato and Katniss were safely hidden in the grassy area ringing the Cornucopia, Peeta would run off to light the first fire which would, hopefully, distract the Careers long enough to give Cato and Katniss time to create the explosion. As a precaution, Rue would be responsible for lighting a second fire to add to the confusion. Finally, all four of them would regroup at the site of the third fire. Rue had devised a clever way for them to communicate via a warning whistle she’d learned to use back home in eleven. Because the forest was home to mockingjays, the birds would easily pick up the four-note whistle and imitate it in such a way that they would be able to deliver the message for the whistler.

 

“You weren’t kidding when you said you had a mountain of supplies stashed away here,” Katniss says in a low voice. “I should have taken your warnings more seriously.”

 

“Don’t worry; they won’t be lazing around like that for long.” Cato is watching Clove sharpen her knives. So far, it seems that his old allies have not noticed anything amiss. “As soon as we blow up their stuff, they’ll be the ones panicking. Remember, Careers come from the wealthier districts, so they’re only as good as what they have in their possession.”

 

He’s not surprised that no one else has joined the club. Judging from yesterday’s deaths, the Careers are more intent on finishing off the tributes instead of adding manpower to their cause. He’s willing to bet his sword that there’s a bounty on his head due to the way he betrayed them.

 

“It’s a fire!” Marvel yells, pointing to the direction of the smoke. “Maybe it’s Cato!”

 

“Probably not,” Clove says sarcastically. “He’s a traitor, but he’s not a fool. Whoever it is, we should finish him or her off quickly to get this game moving faster. I’ve been horribly bored since yesterday’s kills—the kid from four didn’t even put up much of a fight.”

 

So she’s the murderer. Again, Cato isn’t surprised.

 

“You stay here,” she tells the boy from three. “Guard the camp while Marvel and I go investigate.”

 

Cato waits for the other two to disappear into the woods before inching closer to the camp area. There are muddy patches in the ground from where the mines have been re-buried. It had been his idea to surround the camp with them; apparently, no changes had been made.

 

“Cato!” Katniss hisses. “Stay back!”

 

She pulls him back just in time for him to be out of sight. The red-haired girl—Foxface, Katniss calls her—from five carefully creeps into the clearing, warily making sure that no one has seen her. Cato watches in amazement as she tiptoes in between the mines. Obviously, she’s been watching them from the woods. How else would she have known where they planted their booby traps? He can only hope that she’ll trip, fall and trigger the explosion, but of course, it doesn’t happen. She sneaks some food into her pack—just enough for the Careers not to notice—and vanishes into the woods again.

 

Katniss shrugs as if to say, “See? I told you she’s a sneak.”

 

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs under his breath. And he thought Clove had been the one to watch out for! “I wanted her to fall and trigger the explosion, but she’s way too clever for that.”

 

“I was highly considering her as an ally before,” Katniss whispers. “But then I felt it would be safer to stay away from her because she’s the type to kill you in your sleep.”

 

He sits back on his haunches, taking note of everything that’s within range. There has to be something, _anything_ that Katniss can shoot to trigger that much needed explosion. A quick glance at the sky tells him that Peeta’s fire is beginning to die down, which means that they don’t have much time left.

 

“The apples!” she suddenly gasps. “I can shoot those apples.”

 

She pulls her bowstring tight and releases her arrow. It ends up missing its mark, hitting the ground outside the mine area.

 

One arrow lost. There’s no way they’ll be able to retrieve it. Judging by the expression on her face, Katniss is just as dismayed.

 

“Relax,” he soothes her. “You’re not going to hit your target if you’re too jumpy.”

 

Nodding, she sucks in a deep breath and braces herself for another try. This time, it’s a successful attempt. Cato watches with bated breath as the apples burst from the net and tumble down the mountain of supplies. As soon as he sees the first apple hit the ground, he knows it’s more than enough.

 

“Don’t let go!” he manages to warn her before the explosion knocks them back. Instinctively, he flattens Katniss to the ground, shielding her from the explosion. It feels like the world has stopped and what’s left of it is all dust and debris. He can’t help but smile against her hair at the thought of his former allies feeling helpless for the first time in the Games due to the losses they can no longer make up for.

 

“Cato,” Katniss nudges him, sounding worried. “I think I’ve gone deaf in one ear.”

 

He pushes himself up on his knees and cups her face with his hands, concerned at the sight of her bloody left ear. His mission temporarily forgotten—when had she become so precious to him?—he leans forward to clean her ear with the material from his jacket when she puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

 

“The Careers are back,” she whispers. “We have to take cover.”

 

Cato grabs her arm and pulls her behind a tree with him. Clove and Marvel stride back into the remains of their once bountiful supply nest. While Clove is yelling angrily at the District 3 boy, Marvel is puttering around in a vain attempt to salvage some of their supplies. The boy from three has done his job well, but it has crippled them instead of making them invincible. In a rage, Clove turns on the boy and slits his throat with her knife before stomping off into the woods with Marvel at her heels.

 

There is no cannon. She’s left him to bleed to death.

 

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Katniss.

 

It’s not like him to make a mercy kill. But over the short course of time that he’s spent inhaling the stench of blood in this arena, he’s realized that a painless death is the best blessing one can give another. He looms over the dying boy and puts a finger over his lips before sharply jerking his head to the side. As soon as he hears the cannon, he rejoins Katniss in their hiding spot, hoping with all his heart that it’s going to be the only one he’s going to hear today.

 

“I’ve dealt with him,” he says. “He’s gone now.”

 

“You’ve a good heart,” Katniss tells him, mopping up the mess that her bleeding ear has made. “I still can’t hear anything, though. Do you think this could be permanent?”

“I’m not good with all this medical business,” he admits. “You might have ruptured your eardrum, but this is just me sharing my theory. Does it hurt?”

 

She shakes her head. “I feel nothing. This isn’t going to be good for me; I need both of my ears in good working condition in order to hunt. This partial deafness could make me useless.”

 

“Well, we don’t know that yet,” he says. “Chin up, Katniss. Even with one bad ear, you’re still a better hunter than any of us. I’d like to see one of them lose an eye and hold up just as well as you are. Come, we’d better find a better place to rest. I’d go out there to look for Peeta and Rue, but I don’t want to risk leaving you alone.”

 

“We can look for them tomorrow,” Katniss agrees. “It’s getting dark and I don’t want to be moving around at night with only one working ear. Plus, I think they’re in hiding, too—the second fire was never lit. Something must have happened for them to go running.”

 

“They’ll be okay,” Cato assures her. “Peeta’s ace at camouflage and Rue can practically fly from tree to tree. The Careers will be too angry or too disheartened to push on, so they’ll probably rest for tonight.”

 

They manage to find a concealed hollow underneath a large bush to take shelter in for the night. He can tell it’s going to be cold, so they’re going to have to share Katniss’ sleeping bag to avoid freezing to death. He lets her crawl in first before slipping in next her, making sure he settles in on her left side.

 

“If the Capitol likes us as much as Peeta said they do, maybe we’ll get something for your ear in the morning,” he suggests, if only to comfort her. “We get up as soon as we’re rested enough, and then we look for Peeta and Rue. You okay with that?”

 

“Sounds reasonable enough,” she agrees. “Good night, Cato.”

 

“Sleep well, Katniss.”

 

They wake shortly before sunrise. There’s no way to tell the time here, so Cato’s become pretty adept at counting the hours. Back home in two, he had this habit of waking up at six in the morning to train, and being in the arena has done little to change his routine. There’s no present from Brutus, but that doesn’t surprise Cato. He wouldn’t know what to do with a spare eardrum even if their sponsors would have sent an operating table with it. Haymitch Abernathy, however, sends them a small tin of lamb stew, Katniss’ favorite Capitol-made food. He assumes they’re supposed to feed each other and look all lovey-dovey, but Katniss is so hungry that he willingly lets her have more than half of it. As soon as they’re full and ready to move, they abandon their shelter and continue their trek to the rendezvous point.

 

Just as they’re walking away from the Cornucopia, Cato hears a laugh. He watches Foxface as she furiously digs through the burnt wreckage, doing some sort of demented happy dance when she manages to unearth what looks like a metal pot and a knife blade. He’s tempted to laugh at her for a moment, but he finds himself pitying her instead.

 

This is what the Capitol has done to her.

 

“It’s terribly sad, isn’t it?” Katniss puts a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t do anything for her. Just like most of the people in the Games, she’s become a lost cause.”

 

“It’s going to end differently for us, though,” he tells her. “Our lives are our own.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“You think it will be safe to whistle now?” he asks once they’re in the thickness of the woods. “Just so they’ll know we’re okay? I doubt anyone will mind us since Rue said birdcalls are easily dismissed by most people. Anyway, in case someone tumbles out of the underbrush, I have my sword and you have your arrows—we’re pretty formidable.”

 

Katniss nods and whistles just as Rue taught them to. Even if she had demonstrated it for them several times the other day, the sight and sound of the mockingjays imitating human noise still hasn’t failed to captivate Cato. Being in the presence of these birds provides him with a sense of peace, somehow.

 

“My father taught me about them,” she shares. “We used to go into the woods together and sing to the mockingjays—he had a beautiful voice. I haven’t sung much since he died. It was an explosion in the mines. We never even recovered his body.”

 

“I’m sorry.” It’s the most sincere he’s ever sounded.

 

“Yeah. We all are, aren’t we?”

 

“Would you sing for me, though?” he asks. “Not right now, but maybe when we’re in the clear. We’ve always been about duty and honor back home, so we didn’t have campfire sing-alongs and stuff like that. Heck, even my own mother never sang me a lullaby.”

 

She smiles wanly at him. “When we find a decent place to take shelter, maybe I will.”

 

At that moment, Cato feels that he would have given anything to have grown up in the woods of District 12 with this girl. It’s strange how he feels so free when he’s in her company, even if they are trapped in a zone where everything is dictated by the Capitol. So, he whistles, too, and lets the birds carry his song.

 

“That way, they’ll know both of us are safe.”

 

Their brief moment of peace, however, is replaced with a feeling of dread when they enter the clearing of the second fire. The pile of branches and twigs is still there, but it hasn’t been touched.

 

Rue had never gotten around to lighting the second fire.

 

“She must have been caught,” Cato mutters. “But there is no cannon, so she’s still alive. Could they be holding her captive somewhere? And where the bloody fuck is Peeta?”

 

“They haven’t responded to our whistles, either,” Katniss says. “But where could the Careers have gone? You don’t think they could have returned to the Cornucopia, could they? Do we backtrack?”

 

Cato rakes his hands through his hair and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, Katniss. I don’t know. I’m bloody fucking sorry but I really don’t know.”

 

“I don’t know, either,” she says, trying to sound calm. “But let’s keep moving. Maybe we’ll—”

 

They’re interrupted by a sharp scream. And then there’s a voice calling, “Katniss! Cato! Peeta!”

 

It’s Rue.

 

“They’ve got her,” Katniss says numbly. “We have to go and help.”

 

Cato takes a risk. He’ll give them away, but Rue is scared and alone somewhere nearby, and he wants her to know that someone’s coming for her. “We’re coming, Rue! You’ll be okay soon!”

 

They dash in the general direction of where the scream came from. Fortunately, she seems to have heard him because she continues to scream for them. They finally stumble upon her in another clearing. She’s dangling from a tree in a large net. Cato recognizes it as one of Marvel’s.

 

This means he’s close by.

 

“You’re okay,” Katniss soothes the young girl as she saws through the ropes with her knife. “Just stay still, Rue—we’ll get you out of here.”

 

Cato stands on alert, his sword at the ready. He can hear footsteps coming towards them, which means he’s going to have to hold off an intruder while Katniss frees Rue.

 

“Do you need the sword?” he asks her. “It would be quicker that way.”

 

“And have you defenseless?” Katniss asks. “Forget it—we’d all end up dead that way. Just…keep watching my back, okay?”

 

Marvel chooses that precise moment to come charging out, spear poised for throwing. Cato drops to the ground just in time to avoid being skewered. Katniss’ lightning-fast reflexes allow her to whip out her bow and fire an arrow right into his beck. Blood gushing out of his throat, Marvel ends his own life by yanking out the arrow. He’s dead in a heartbeat.

 

There’s a cannon. Clove has just lost her last ally.

 

“Thank fuck,” Cato groans, rolling over onto his back. “I thought for a moment that—”

 

A muffled scream interrupts him. His eyes widen in shock as he scrambles to his feet, arms shooting out just in time to catch Rue as she slumps forward, staining his shirt with her blood. He feels like he can’t breathe; the sight of Marvel’s spear protruding from her back is too much to take in.

 

“Rue,” he hears Katniss murmur as he lowers the little girl to the ground, cradling her head in his lap. He knows there’s no way to save her; the spearhead is buried up to the shaft in her stomach. Her hand reaches out and Katniss grabs it. Her face is ashen and her lips are white. Cato can feel how scared she is.

 

“You blew up the food?” Rue whispers.

 

“Every last bit,” Katniss promises.

 

“You _have_ to win,” Rue says. “You too, Cato—both of you.”  

 

“I can’t promise you anything.” Cato shakes his head. “I promised myself I would protect you, and now you’re fucking dying in my arms!”

 

“But you can protect Katniss,” Rue insists. “Promise me you’ll look after her.”

 

Cato nods. He strokes her hair. Maybe it will ease her passing a little.

 

“Don’t go,” she implores them. It’s heartbreaking.

 

“Course not,” Katniss says. “We’re staying right here.”

 

Rue makes one last wish. “Sing?”

 

Cato clasps their joined hands in his. “Yes. Sing.”

 

The song she chooses is a lullaby. Cato’s never heard it before, but it’s soothing, nonetheless. He’s thinking of meadows carpeted in soft green grass and daisies in full bloom. He’s thinking about peaceful mornings and restful nights. He’s thinking about a girl in a pretty dress with her hair braided down her back.

 

He’s thinking about hope.

 

Rue’s eyes have fluttered shut. She’s still breathing but barely. A sobs tears its way out of Katniss’ throat and she slumps against Cato. He turns his face into her hair and breathes her in.

 

“It’s time to say goodbye, Katniss.”

 

The mockingjays take up her song. When he hears Rue’s cannon fire, Cato gently lowers her head to the ground and gets to his feet. He’s never met such a brave little girl in his life before. He watches Katniss duck into the woods, only to come out with an armful of wildflowers. She crouches down next to Rue and decorates her body with the flowers, covering the ugly wound and framing waving garlands through her hair. Cato removes the spear from her body and snaps it in two, throwing the end with the bloody spearhead as far into the woods as he can.

 

 _Let them find it_ , he thinks. _Let them find it and let them come after me._

He approaches Marvel’s corpse and studies his face for a moment. He can’t bring himself to hate this foolish boy who was just doing as he was told, especially in death. It’s the Capitol’s fault that they’ve all become like this, turning on each other like a bunch of animals.

 

“At least you’re free now.”

 

He flips Marvel’s corpse onto its back and cuts his pack away from his shoulders, knowing full well that he’s going to have some useful supplies in there. He takes Rue’s as well; her share of the berries, nuts and bits of squirrel that they had divided among themselves are still there, untouched. He swings both packs over his shoulder and returns to Katniss’ side to take one last look at Rue.

 

“She’s in a better place now,” Katniss says quietly. “Marvel, too.”

 

The woods fall silent. There’s nothing to hear save for the sound of the hovercraft. Katniss draws herself up and presses the three middle fingers of her left hand to her lips before holding them up in the air. He recognizes it from her reaping; it’s the very same gesture the people of District 12 made when Katniss volunteered as tribute.

 

Suddenly, he understands. He understands what District 12 meant when they saluted Katniss. He understands what Katniss meant when she saluted Rue.

 

He cups her cheeks with his hands presses a kiss to the corner of her lips. This is his salute. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cato has his orders: take a weapon, kill the others and win. He can’t help but wish for everything to have stayed that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a collective post of all ten chapters rolled into one. Why? I was an idiot who accidentally deleted her ENTIRE work when the office net was bugging down while posting the new chapter--so yeah, all my hits and comments have basically died with it. Silly me.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> This crazy little story is a byproduct of a Tumblr post, a second viewing of Ross’ film and my hyperactive imagination. My friend, Tami Kumar (this is your fault, my little llama!), made this comment about how one can ship Cato and Katniss in the film because of all the eye sex that happens. I ran with this blurb and voila—my first venture into The Hunger Games world of fan fiction. Neither the characters nor the story belong to me. Suzanne Collins is the wizard behind everything and anything; Gary Ross had a bit of a hand in this (the film adaptation), too. The only magic I wield here are the liberties I have taken with both the story and some aspects of the film.

It’s almost impossible to recall how long it’s been since Rue’s death.

 

They’ve been walking for what seems like days, barely speaking to each other. Aside from a sense of grim determination, the only thing that’s keeping them tethered to what remains of their sanity is their joined hands. He doesn’t remember when he offered her his hand (or maybe she’d offered hers); it feels as if he’d just rolled over in bed to find her hand in his the next morning.

 

Many times, he had felt the urge to say something—remind her that Peeta was still alive and that they should try to find him just so they could get going. The thing is, he doesn’t want to give Katniss any more false hope. Sure, they had gotten to Rue in time, but Marvel had beaten them to her, nonetheless. The same thing could happen to Peeta. The same thing could happen to either of them.  

 

“Sometimes, I can’t help but think that it would be easier to just die,” Katniss suddenly says. “There are a lot of ways, you know? We wouldn’t even feel a thing.”

 

He lets go of her hand and grabs her shoulders, making sure they’re seeing eye-to-eye. “Stop it. Remember what we promised Rue? We’re going to find a way out of this. Heck, I know this is pushing it, but maybe we’ll find a way to get out alive—all of us. Whatever happens, I’m not going to let you die, Katniss.”

 

He doesn’t know what pushes her to do it. Suddenly, she’s on her toes and her lips are on his. It’s a real kiss, this time—at least, it’s Cato’s idea of what a real kiss feels like—all tongues and teeth coupled with a certain sense of desperation. He can taste her anxiety and her anger, and, underneath all that, a little bit of something he can’t seem to give a name to. He’d refused to touch her because the whole of Panem is watching, but right now, he can’t bring himself to care.

 

He breaks away for air and presses his forehead against hers. “Are we okay?”

 

“More than okay.” She’s smiling. It shouldn’t please him to see her so happy. Maybe he should stop denying this—whatever the heck it is. “Let’s go find Peeta.”

 

He offers her his hand. “For the cameras?”

 

Katniss shakes her head as she takes it in hers. “For us.”

 

“I’d have dated you, you know?” Cato asks conversationally as they make their way to the clearing where Peeta had set fire to the first pile of branches. “Had we gone to the same school—the training academy, even—I’d have noticed you for sure. Well, that is if you were from two, of course.”

 

“I don’t think I would have noticed you if you’d grown up in twelve,” Katniss admits. “But that would just be because I don’t go to town unless there’s something to sell or trade. You’d be from the town for sure, I feel; everyone from there is pretty much blonde and blue-eyed. I’m awful when it comes to paying attention to people because I’ve always been so focused on making sure my family doesn’t starve.”

 

“Me? I pay too much attention to people.” Cato chuckles. “I’m always assessing them; I want to know whether this particular person is weak or strong or is worthy or unworthy—it’s a hang up of mine. Before I went into the arena, I had this little file in my head on all the tributes and what they could do given what I saw in the training center. Of course, you’ve always been a special case.”

 

“The last one on your kill list?”

 

“Something like that,” Cato replies. “I don’t know how this is going to sound like, but among all these people, it’s like you’re the only one who ever felt real to me. I don’t think I could ever dream up someone as fleshed out as you, Katniss Everdeen.”

 

“I wouldn’t wish myself on anyone,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’m so fucked up, Cato—you’re not allowed to deny me that because you know it’s true.”

 

“I’m probably ten times worse,” Cato remarks. “Nobody wants the Capitol’s golden boy save for the Capitol itself. And because I’ve been behaving the way I am now, I highly doubt they still support me.”

 

“Well, your mentor still has faith in you,” Katniss replies. “And some of the people from the Capitol remain to be hooked on our relationship because the gifts haven’t stopped coming.”

 

Faith. Cato could do a lot better in life with a little bit of that. He’d always been too logical; he had trouble believing in most things when one only had something as abstract as faith to hang on to.

 

“I’m sure he’s managed to escape.” Katniss is frowning as she studies the remnants of the first fire. “This had obviously been lit—we’d seen it with our own eyes. But where could he have gone?”

 

Cato makes a thorough inspection of the clearing, making sure to investigate every nook and cranny for even the slightest bit of evidence. It would have been easier to search for someone else; Peeta was the master of stealth and would definitely find a way to cover his tracks.

 

“…unless he’s been hurt, of course,” he murmurs, noticing several droplets of blood on the ground. “I think we’ve managed to find ourselves a trail, Katniss.”

 

They follow the trail to a nearby riverbank where it ends in a bed of mud. Cato is debating whether they should start calling for Peeta or not; there are far too few people left in the arena and someone is bound to hear them. Still, he can’t just poke around all day and expect to yield timely results.

 

“Peeta!” he hollers, moving carefully around the general area of the river. “If you can hear me, do us a favor and show yourself; I don’t want to end up stepping on your face by accident.”

 

He feels the ground move a little under his feet. He can’t help but grin in amusement as a pair of eyes appear in the mud. “Actually, you almost did. Thanks for the warning, though.”

 

Katniss rushes over to them. Together, they pull Peeta out of the mess and into the river. He’s filthy all over, but Cato’s eyes automatically rivet to the deep gash in his leg. It’s eerily similar to the one he gave Peeta in his hallucination.

 

“It was Clove,” Peeta explains. “She came charging out of the woods on my way to meet Rue and managed to injure me. She was holding a sword, Cato; I had a feeling she wanted to kill you using the weapon you’re most known for.”

 

“Typical Clove,” Cato mutters. “I’m sure she went on a wild rampage after Marvel delivered the news of my betrayal. She may not be as handy with a sword as I am, but this cut is a deep one; we can’t heal it with what we have. We’re going to need medicine from the Capitol.”

 

“Which means you two should probably make out,” Peeta suggests. It’s amazing how he can keep his good humor even though he’s wincing in pain. “I’m sure my leg is worth one kiss, right? I promise I won’t watch. It’s not like I have any intention to, either.”

 

“We’ll figure that out later,” Katniss says briskly. “First, we get you cleaned up, get you somewhere safe and treat that wound with whatever we have right now.”

 

It’s almost amusing how Katniss balks when Peeta removes his shirt. She doesn’t say it out loud, but Cato can tell she’s a little sensitive when it comes to nudity. He’s tempted to ask her how she’d mustered the courage to run her hands over his chest and palm his cock, but having sex and saving lives are two completely different things.

 

“I’ll deal with him,” he tells her. “Maybe you can start looking for a good place to make camp?”

 

“Good idea,” she says, sounding relieved. “I’m just not made for stuff like this. My mother and my sister Prim are healers; they don’t balk at the sight of naked bodies.”

 

“Well, we’d all much rather stick to what we do best, don’t we?” Cato asks as he helps Peeta into the water. “As soon as you find some place, give me a heads up—just don’t go too far.”

 

“Worried about me already?” Katniss asks with a smile before she runs off. “I’ll live, Cato.”

 

Cato grunts. “Honestly, that girl enjoys keeping me on my toes.”

 

“You wouldn’t like her as much if she didn’t, though,” Peeta teases him. “You two are awfully cute; if this weren’t some fight-to-the-death game, the kids at home would be swooning over you.”

 

“Shut up, Peeta,” Cato says good-naturedly. “There are plenty of things that I will continue to refuse to address until I absolutely have to.”

 

It’s crazy how much trust these people from twelve have placed in him. He’d had plenty of opportunities to kill them before—and he could have in order to make things easier—and yet it had never once occurred to him. Cato never felt that he’d had real friends before; people from District 2 had always been so intent on preparing for the Games that they never really believed in matters of recreation, which was why he had always found it difficult to form actual relationships.

 

Katniss and Peeta were pretty much the first friends he’d ever made in his life.

 

He helps Peeta in keeping his balance, leaving him the dignity of dressing himself. Cato doesn’t know if Peeta’s grateful for it or pissed because he’s in a shitload of pain, but if there’s something Cato wholeheartedly believes in, it’s allowing people to keep their dignity.

 

Katniss pops out from behind some bushes. “I found a cave. It’s going to be a bit of a struggle helping Peeta into it, but it will definitely keep us concealed—you and I can easily go in and out, at least. Besides, he’ll have to stay there for the most part, anyway.”

 

Peeta rolls his eyes. “I feel like some sort of invalid.”

 

“Because you kind of are,” Katniss retorts, bracing him up with her shoulders. Cato is bearing his weight on the other side. “Thankfully, it’s not far from here. The mouth isn’t that big, but I think you can slide in without hurting yourself.”

 

As soon as they arrive at the cave (neatly concealed by the underbrush), Cato slides down first so he can help Peeta settle in without incurring any additional injuries. It proves to be a bit of a challenge since Katniss, whip-like and slender as she is, has a hard time bearing Peeta’s weight as she helps him into the cave. Cato can’t help but sigh in relief as soon as they have Peeta settled inside with a makeshift bandage covering the gash in his leg.

 

“You know, when I imagined myself winning the Games, I’d always felt that I would end up doing it the Annie Cresta way,” Peeta says dryly. “Then again, I’m not a very good swimmer, so I’d drown.”

 

As Katniss went about checking their meager rations for a decent meal, Cato began to re-assess the playing field in his head. There were only very few of them left—Foxface, Clove, Thresh, Peeta, Katniss and himself. Pretty soon, the Gamemakers were going to find a way to bring them together.

 

“ _Attention, all tributes_.” It’s Seneca Crane’s voice, not Templesmith’s. “ _Tomorrow, there will be a feast at the Cornucopia. You may or may not choose to go, but what you will find there is something that you may be in dire need of. Choose wisely._ ”

 

Speak of the devil.

 

“Medicine,” Katniss says. “Whatever it is, it must be medicine for Peeta’s leg. I can’t think of anything we need more right now. We’re going, Peeta—you’re staying right here.”

 

“Only to hear the sound of cannon blasts for the both of you?” Peeta glares at her. “Thank you, but no.”

 

“You of little faith,” Cato accuses him. “We’ll be fine. I don’t mind running a sword through whichever person dares to make a go at Katniss or that medicine. They see me as a traitorous monster? Then that’s what they’re going to get.”

 

Katniss rubs her nose against his—an Eskimo kiss, Cato thinks. “They’re just that afraid of you, my love.”

~*~*~*~*~

 

The sun is barely even up when Katniss and Cato set off for the Cornucopia. Last night, they’d agreed that it would be best to just grab whatever belongs to them and leave, but secretly, Cato’s in need of some direct confrontation. He’ll be sparing their lives for a while longer by killing someone during the feast.

 

Of course, he didn’t count on Foxface getting the same idea.

 

They’ve barely settled into their hiding place behind a large bush when the red-haired girl cautiously steps out from the woods. She wastes no time in making a run for the Cornucopia—there’s a ledge of packs marked with their district numbers—grabbing her pack and dashing back into the woods.

 

“…there’s just no getting rid of this girl, is there?” he mutters.

 

“Not for now, at least,” Katniss agrees grimly. “Should we go in? There doesn’t seem to be anybody running in at the moment—unless they’re waiting for us under some rock.”

 

Cato squeezes his eyes shut. Seneca Crane told him something about a feast once. He’d remembered well because it was the exact same tone of voice that he’d used when they had run into each other during Cato’s jog. He’d sounded so calm then, but there was something in his eyes that betrayed his tone.

 

Seneca Crane was warning him. From the very beginning, Seneca Crane was trying to _help_ him.

 

He can’t breathe a word of this, though. He can’t get the Head Gamemaker into trouble—not when he could be Cato’s only way out of here alive.

 

“Let’s wait, Katniss,” he suggests. “I have a feeling we’re only going to get into trouble if we rush in heedlessly. I know patience isn’t my forte, but it’s worked well in my favor so far.”

 

Katniss grins. “Apparently, you do learn.”

 

It’s not long before Clove comes running into the Cornucopia. She keeps looking over her shoulder as if she’s being chased. Cato’s a little surprised to see her looking like this, though; she no longer moves with that confident swagger she had when they were the high and mighty Career Tribute alliance. She’s thinner now with dark circles ringing her eyes.

 

 _I lost my swagger, too_ , he thinks. _We’ve all changed through the course of the Games. This is what the Capitol does to us._

He wills himself to sit still even as he watches Thresh dash out of the woods after her. He can tell that the other boy is beyond livid; he must have known that the Careers had something to do with Rue’s death. Clove is fast, but Thresh catches her just as she’s about to grab her pack.

 

“You killed her, didn’t you?” Thresh is growling.

 

“I didn’t!” Clove protests, thrashing wildly in his grip. “It wasn’t me!”

 

Thresh doesn’t listen to her, though. Cato is suddenly grateful that he can’t see this up close; for all the insanity that Clove has brought upon him, she doesn’t deserve to go this way.

 

“Cato! Cato! _Cato_!” He doesn’t expect her to scream for him.

 

Almost mechanically, he gets to his feet, blowing their cover completely. Katniss rises with him and places a hand on his shoulder. She’s more than enough to keep him where he is. He’s not going to come forward. It is better that someone else kills Clove. In this arena, she’s all that’s left of his childhood, and he’s not brave enough to plunge a sword into her heart.

 

Thresh is repeatedly bashing her skull with a rock and doesn’t stop until she crumples to the ground, dead. He makes a grab for his pack and turns to face them, his eyes dark and his face closed off. “Just this one time, Twelve and Two. For Rue.”

 

Cato meets his eyes. It’s a moment of mutual respect for the both of them. He’d always admired Thresh for his determination to stand on his own and refusal to join the Careers. This is a man who’s survived for so long with no allies and no dirty tricks.

 

It’s not until the cannon blast for Clove goes out that Thresh leaves the area. Cato motions for Katniss follow him. They quietly walk towards the mouth of the Cornucopia, purposely ignoring Clove’s corpse—Cato doesn’t want to see her dead eyes staring up at him accusingly—to retrieve their packs. On impulse, Cato takes Clove’s, too. He doesn’t want to risk leaving the leftovers for Foxface to scavenge.

 

On impulse, he opens his—and sees the very reason as to why Seneca Crane was adamant that he stayed. In his pack is sturdy, lightweight Capitol-made armor.

 

“You’d be invincible with that,” he hears Katniss remark. “I don’t know how or why you’re going to need it, but I don’t think anything can hurt you at this rate.”

 

“Well, you’ll be able to take on some pretty hard hits yourself, too,” Cato tells her. “Clove’s pack contains the very same thing.”

 

“So, they gave Peeta medicine and they gave you armor,” Katniss notes, “what on earth are they equipping us for? A full-out war consisting of five people?”

 

“Why, what did you get?”

 

“Arrowheads,” she says. “Poisoned ones.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Foxface and Thresh. Foxface and Thresh. Foxface and Thresh.

 

At this point, they’re the only ones left to deal with. Cato knows it’s not going to be easy; he already knows he won’t be able to take these two on using a direct confrontation—Foxface is too sneaky and Thresh is too strong. Maybe they’re going to end up using Katniss’ arrows for a quick, quiet kill. At least they’ll have the advantage of distance.

 

Come what may, he’s just glad that Peeta’s leg is functioning well enough—the Capitol’s medicine is a wonderful concoction—for them to start moving around again. Although the cave provided excellent protection, Cato had never been one to function properly in cramped, dark spaces. Also, there had been little privacy, especially for Katniss. Had they been alone (and not televised live to the entirety of Panem) he would have snuck in a few gropes, but he didn’t think he could handle being teased by Peeta.

 

“Have all the animals suddenly gone into hiding or something?” Katniss asks. “I can’t seem to find anything suitable for us to eat. Would it be too insulting for you if I ask you to pick berries?”

 

“I’ll go berry picking,” Peeta replies. “Cato might never be able to sleep at night again if he did.”

 

“Just don’t go too far, alright?” Cato ignores the jibe. “Make sure Katniss and I will be able to find you in case you get into trouble.”

 

“Yes, father,” Peeta intones cheerfully, moving off to a group of bushes. “I promise I’ll be home by dinner. Oh, and I won’t allow my boyfriend to kiss me on the doorstep, either.”

 

“...boyfriend?” Katniss shoots him a questioning look.

 

“What, you didn’t know?” Peeta asks innocently. “I thought that the way I act around Cato made it appear blatant enough. Or the way I’d watch Gale Hawthorne go home from school.”

 

“You pick the strangest times to tell us things,” Cato remarks. “Also, you have weird taste in boys.  I’m not exactly crush material.”

 

“Unless you like them rough,” Katniss says with a cheeky grin. “Ooh, look—a squirrel. Prim would hate me for all these animals I’ve been killing.”

 

“Gotta stay alive somehow,” Cato offers, fishing his knife out of its holster. “Shall I sneak up on it or are we going to use one of your—”

 

They hear a boom. It’s the unmistakable sound of a cannon blast.

 

“Fuck!” he hisses. “Where did Peeta go off to?”

 

“Somewhere around these bushes.” Katniss dashes off to investigate. “I hope he didn’t eat any of these—they’re poisonous! Nightlock, they’re called. Oh bloody fuck, I hope he didn’t eat them!”

 

Peeta puts their worst fears by emerging from another clearing, his face ashen. “I—I didn’t know they were poisonous! Apparently, she didn’t either.”

 

A dead Foxface is lying on the forest floor. Purplish juices stain her lips and her hands. Apparently, her hunger had overridden her logic. Cato finds that he has the heart to feel sorry for her now. It is one thing to die at the hands of another tribute, but it’s another to perish at the hands of your own carelessness.

 

There are only four of them left. The Capitol must be on its toes now.

 

Cato swallows. “We should get some rest. It’s pretty much safe to camp anywhere now given the absence of…well, pretty much everyone who came in here with us.”

 

Katniss doesn’t say anything, but she leads the way to a spot close to one of the few sources of water in the arena. For the first time since they formed the alliance, they stay as far away from each other as possible, not making any move to speak. Cato doesn’t see the sense in this anymore. He just wants it to end soon.

 

 _Help me out here_ , he thinks. _I am nothing but a tired boy in flashy armor now_. _Did you dress me and Katniss up as gladiators just so we can fight to the death the way you want us to? And what about Peeta? What of Thresh?_

He’s close to flipping out again. He doesn’t know what the fuck they want anymore. Maybe the Gamemakers should just trigger an explosion and wipe them all out in one blow. It would be interesting to see how the Capitol would respond to the absence of a victor, for once.

 

He would enjoy laughing at them from his seat next to the devil in hell.

 

“…do you hear that?” Peeta suddenly says, struggling to get to his feet. “I thought I heard a howl.”

 

Cato listens intently. He hears nothing but the sounds of the forest for a few seconds, but when he hears a faint howl in the distance, he begins to understand the purpose of these gifts.

 

“We’ve got company,” he says quietly. “Get ready to run like hell.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The howls are coming from somewhere behind them, and they don’t sound like they’re going to stay far for very long. Cursing, Cato hauls on his pack and motions for Katniss and Peeta to follow him. He breaks out into a run, egged on by the sound of branches snapping and heavy footfalls behind them.

 

“Looks like they finally unleashed the mutations,” Katniss rasps. “They sound like dogs or wolves, but I bet the Gamemakers found a way to make them more horrifying.”

 

“Maybe this is what the armor is for,” Cato huffs. “Maybe one of my sponsors got wind of what was going to happen and made sure I got this to ensure my survival. The same could go for your arrows.”

 

“Lucky I’ve thought of replacing my arrowheads during our brief rest stop, then,” Katniss says, fitting one into her bow. “How long do you think we’ll be able to hold them off?”

 

“I wouldn’t even think of trying until we manage to get some leverage on them,” Cato replies, quickly jumping over a fallen log. “Maybe we’ll manage to think of something then. If Katniss is going to use her arrows, then we’re going to need some distance.”

 

They hear a loud scream amidst the growls. Cato knows it can only be Thresh—tough as he is, he was never one to run very fast. They can’t afford to turn back and help him now; it’s a terrible thing to say, but he’s thankful that the Gamemaker chose to sic the hounds on Thresh first. The mutts were probably engineered to surpass human strength and agility; they can gain footing on the tributes in no time.

 

“The Cornucopia!” Peeta cries. “We can climb up there—maybe they won’t be able to reach us.”

 

It proves to be an excellent idea. He’s gone back and forth so many times within the last few days that it’s easy for him to find a quick way into what was once the pinnacle of his glory—it’s strange how his days as a high and mighty Career seem so long ago.

 

“Climb!” he orders breathlessly, crouching down on the ground so his companions can use his shoulder for leverage. “Peeta, you go first; you’ve the bum leg. Katniss, you go after him—and don’t you argue.”

 

As soon as he hoists them both up, they drop down onto their stomachs to help him in turn. Cato is barely up on the hood when he hears the growls at his heels. It doesn’t take him long to recognize what the Gamemakers have created. One of the mutts is slim with gold fur. The number ‘1’ has been branded into its hip. He can see the similarities in the others, too—there’s Foxface, tiny with red fur; Clove, dark and wild-eyed; Marvel, long-bodied with brown fur.

 

He’s staring into the eyes of the dead.

 

Katniss fits an arrow into her string and aims it at one of the mutts, but doesn’t let it fly. Cato understands her reservations; there are only a handful of arrows in her quiver and far too many mutts. He wants to help fend them away, too, but if he loses his sword, he may as well kiss his victory goodbye.

 

 _But is it still about victory?_ he asks himself. _We’ve been cornered by the mutts—cornered by the Capitol. This is their way of showing us that they will always have dominion over the districts._

“We can’t just stand here and wait for them to disappear,” Peeta says quietly. “For all you know, the Gamemakers are going to recode their DNA to make them larger—first one who manages to avoid being nibbled to death wins the Games.”

 

Katniss glares at him. “Will you be quiet? I’m trying to think of something here.”

 

Seven arrows, one sword and one knife. It’s not much against twenty fierce muttations.

 

“ _If_ there still is something,” Cato says harshly. “There’s not much we can do, Katniss. Sure, we’ve got weapons, but they won’t be of much help unless you can skewer four mutts with one arrow. And even if we manage to run, how can we be so sure that they won’t create even more demonic creatures for us to face? This is the finale—the adventure is fucking over.”

 

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Katniss is furious. “Give up? Because the Cato I know promised to fight with me as long as he could.”

 

“Then maybe this is the end of the line for me!” Cato grabs Peeta and holds him in a headlock. “Shoot us, Katniss. Give them their winner.  This is what they intended for us, anyway. They wanted us to believe that we could be friends only to have us slaughter each other in the end. I’m just making it easier.”

 

“You don’t want to do this, Cato,” Katniss warns him. “No, you _don’t_ get to do this.”

 

Cato lets go of Peeta and steps precariously close to the edge. “This is me asking to die on my own terms. At least grant me that wish. You promised, Katniss.”

 

She drops her bow. “No. You promised Rue that _you_ would win.” 

 

“I’ll make this easier on you and throw myself to the mutts, then.”

 

Katniss lunges forward in an attempt to pin him to the hood. Cato’s eyes widen; has she forgotten that he’s standing at the edge? He means for her to live, not to go down with him!

 

“Katniss!” he hears Peeta scream. “Cato!”

 

Cato shuts his eyes when his back comes into contact with the ground. Maybe dying with the one girl he could ever bring himself to feel something for won’t be so bad after all.

 

He braces himself for the claws that will rake into his skin, but it never comes.

 

Instead, he hears Seneca Crane. _“Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games!”_

~*~*~*~*~

 

It smells of antiseptic here in the Recovery Center. Cato has been forced by the attendants to lie still and keep off his feet for the next few hours, but he can’t seem to keep himself from pacing.

 

He has just won the Hunger Games, but he is more anxious than ever.

 

This shouldn’t have happened. No Gamemaker has ever had the gall to declare three tributes as victors—there simply has been no reason to do so. He demands an explanation, but he’s been forbidden to have any visitors. It demeans him to obey, but that’s what he does; he’s in a precarious position right now and it will do him no good to behave badly.

 

Waiting has never been more difficult before.

 

He hasn’t heard about Katniss and Peeta, either. Each time he’d tried to ask the attendants about his friends, they’d simply averted their eyes and ignored him. It felt shitty lying here and not knowing anything. He was scared, too, though; the Capitol always found a way to punish people. Would they kill his family, perhaps? Cato knew they would be disappointed in him after seeing how his behavior had changed during the Games, but family was family, and Cato had no other.

 

The sound of the electronic door opening caused him to sit up. He’d been expecting Brutus or Viola to come see him, but he had not prepared himself for Seneca Crane to step in.

 

“You!” He cringes. He knows how accusatory he must sound.

 

“Yes, me,” Seneca Crane replies primly. “Sit down, Cato. We’ve a lot to discuss. You don’t have to worry about being overheard as your tracker has been deactivated and there are no cameras in the Recovery Center to ensure the patients’ privacy. You must have plenty of questions for me.”

 

“A million, actually,” Cato answers. “What the heck happened back there? Why did you declare all three of us as victor? I was perfectly ready to die.”

 

“I wasn’t,” Seneca says. “You were supposed to be the _only_ victor—I’d engineered the Games to make sure you would come out on top. I had certainly not expected you to develop feelings for Katniss Everdeen. I had to rethink everything from that point on because Brutus and Haymitch Abernathy managed to convince me that it was a good idea to play up your relationship in terms of getting sponsors.”

 

“But why me?” Cato asks. “What do I have to offer the Capitol?”

 

Seneca leans in. “Not the Capitol, Cato, but _Panem_. Do you know why I signed up for the Head Gamemaker post this year? It’s all part of a plan for Panem to wrench itself free of the Capitol. There’s going to be a rebellion, Cato, and we need the ideal rebel. What you did when the girl from eleven was killed? That was what changed my game plan. We needed both you and Katniss Everdeen to come out of the area alive for this to work.”

 

“We?” Cato parrots. “Who the hell are you people?”

 

Seneca gives him a sardonic smile. “District 13.”

 

Cato is staring at him as if he’s grown two heads. “But the Capitol obliterated thirteen years ago!”

 

“They’ve rebuilt it beneath the ruins,” Seneca explains. “They are governed by their own ruler and have their own military in the making. We need more manpower, though; this is why some of us have been sent to the different districts of Panem and even the Capitol to secure more people who share our cause. You’re no longer safe here, Cato. Some people from thirteen will come to retrieve you when you are fully healed.”

 

“But what about the tributes from twelve?” Cato demands. “Are you going to make sure they escape safely as well? Because Snow will be just as angry at them.”

 

“It isn’t my place to discuss their circumstances, Cato,” Seneca replies. “I am not their mentor. However, I can assure you that Haymitch will not allow them to die.”

 

“And you?” Cato stares at him. “What of you, then?”

 

“I’ve been sentenced to death. There is no place in the Capitol for a Gamemaker who saves lives.”

 

“Then why did you risk your ass for me, anyway?” Cato is frustrated. “You don’t even _know_ me!”

 

“I never knew you, yes,” Seneca says quietly. “Father never told me about you until he found out I had been made Head Gamemaker. He had never forgotten that he had two sons, after all.”

 

Cato laughs bitterly. “Of course he wouldn’t tell me that I had a brother who was shipped off to the Capitol. Tell me; were you a gesture of good will from District 2?”

 

“Not exactly,” Seneca replies. “I was the result of an affair from one of father’s many visits to the Capitol. Of course, he wasn’t married to your mother yet at that time, so it wasn’t exactly some horrible, illicit thing. He just fell into bed with my mother one night and I happened. She raised me on her own, but father never forgot about me. Even after you were born, he would still come to see me whenever he would visit. You don’t have to worry about unfaithfulness; he never loved my mother the way he did yours.”

 

“Oh, Christ,” Cato says with a weak laugh. “And to think I was supposed to have three brothers. Mother and father had another one, you know? Only she miscarried—that dark cloud’s been hanging over our heads ever since. Father doesn’t like failing at anything.”

 

“Give him my regards, won’t you?” Seneca requests. “Obviously, I won’t be able to see him again.”

 

“You could escape with me,” Cato urges him. “You don’t have to die.”

 

“They just want someone to punish,” Seneca explains. “If I escape, they’ll take you or Katniss or even Peeta instead, and I can’t have that. I’ve done what I can for my cause.”

 

“Will it hurt?” he asks quietly. “Dying, I mean.”

 

“I suppose not. You’ve seen what nightlock can do, right?”

 

“And when…?”

 

“Tonight.”

 

The brothers sit in silence. Cato knows he can’t complain. Life just isn’t fair.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

It’s hard to mourn for someone he barely knows, but Cato can feel the weight of Seneca Crane’s absence. He can’t stay still any longer, though; instead, he wanders the Recovery Center in search of Katniss and Peeta. The attendants are paying less attention to him now that he’s doing better. So far, no one seems to have the urge to hack his head off—perhaps the Capitol is keeping this under wraps, after all.

 

Luckily, he manages to spot Katniss in the reception area. She’s seated by the fountain at the plaza, looking lost and frail in her generic hospital gown. He hates what they’ve done to her; she’s not supposed to have the appearance of a lost little lamb.

 

“You look terrible,” is the first thing she tells him.

 

“So do you.”

 

He takes a seat next to her and lets her lean on his shoulder. It’s almost as if they are in the arena again, but the stench of antiseptic lingers in the air as a harsh reminder of their reality.

 

“They killed him,” he says in a low voice so that only she can hear. “They killed Seneca Crane.”

 

“Of course they did,” she replies hollowly. “You know the rules—only one comes out. This year, he gave the Capitol three victors.”

 

“He did it for me. We have the same father, you know? I only found out yesterday morning.”

 

Katniss lifts her head to look him in the eye. She looks genuinely sad. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Can we go elsewhere?” he asks. “Somewhere more private.”

 

“My room is close by,” she responds. “The people here have been ignoring me more and more ever since I started getting better, so no one will bother us there.”

 

He waits for her to shut the door behind them before pulling her into an embrace, relieved that he doesn’t have to kill her. What surprises him now is the staggering loneliness he feels at the prospect of being apart from her. Now that they are no longer in a situation where only one of them must survive, he’s become a little more willing to acknowledge the fact that he has developed feelings for her along the way.

 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she says quietly. “Haymitch told me that Snow isn’t happy with what we did—you, me, Peeta and Seneca Crane alike. Because of our friendship and the conversations we’ve had in the area—they weren’t censored, by the way--some of the districts and even some citizens of the Capitol have begun to question the motives of our government.”

 

“Seneca told me the same thing,” Cato replies. “I’m going to be sent away soon—probably tonight, even. Did they tell you thirteen was still standing? That’s where Seneca told me to go. I can no longer stay in two; he told me I am no longer safe there.”

 

“We’re going to be sent back home to twelve,” Katniss replies. “Haymitch says I have to do what a victor does—go on the Victory Tour and all that shit. I don’t want to do it, though; you’re much better at those kinds of things than I am. Maybe I could just go into hiding with you.”

 

“You can’t, though,” Cato reminds her gently. “We still have roles to play; we can’t be selfish if we want things to change around here. You’ll do just fine, Kat—Peeta will be with you.”

 

She shakes her head. “He’s in no condition to travel. They’ve amputated his damaged leg and put a prosthetic in place. It’s wonderful and all that, but nothing will ever work as well as a real limb.”

 

“I’ll be looking out for you in my own way, then,” Cato assures her. “I don’t know what kind of intelligence they have in thirteen, but I’ll find a way to keep myself abreast of what you’re dealing with.”

 

“You’ll wait?” she asks softly, brushing her lips over his.

 

“Forever.”

 

He pushes her down on the bed and drapes himself atop her, hands already fumbling at the ties of her hospital gown. He wants to take his time now; he knows it will be several more months—even years—until he can touch her like this again. This is how he wants to remember her, naked and beautiful beneath him, moaning and gasping his name as he pushes his cock into her.

 

This is the memory that he will carry with him until their paths cross again one day.

 

And maybe—just maybe—he’ll be able to tell her that he loves her then.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

_Two years later…_

_  
_

Cato grunts as he hefts a section of a broken beam over his shoulder; he would much rather leave the Capitol in a state of ruin, but that would be going against the idea of moving past the dark ages.

 

He still finds it difficult to believe that everything is over. The Quarter Quell, the motives behind Alma Coin’s actions, the numerous deaths that have plagued Panem—it almost feels that all of this happened to a different person in a different life. He can hardly remember his life as Cato, the strong, favored tribute from District 2. On the rare occasions that he does look back, he can only remember his life as a soldier of the rebellion, taking arms with thirteen only to turn against it when Coin’s plan was foiled. He’s a man of no allegiances now, pitching in with the restoration efforts in any way he can.

 

“She’ll be coming back today, you know.” Gale. He slips underneath and takes some of the beam’s weight off Cato’s shoulder. Together, they move it to the pile of rubble that they had deemed reusable.

 

“Yeah?” Inside, he wants to cringe. That hopeful tone in his voice gave him away completely.

 

“I heard it from Haymitch,” Gale replies. “Well, I heard it from Peeta. Who heard it from Haymitch. He came to see her last night; they had a row about pretty much everything.”

 

“I understand why she has a hard time convincing herself to help out,” Cato remarks. “This is the place where our road to hell began. It’s completely against my will to unearth the rubble to see what can be salvaged; I’d much rather leave it in ruin because of what its government has done to us. But if I refuse, we’d be stuck with a barren land that would serve as a painful reminder of that bit of history. I would much rather help convert it into something that can be good for the people.”

 

Gale snorts as he wipes his face with a fraying towel. “I would suggest that you run for district mayor, but I don’t think we’ll be dividing ourselves anytime soon.”

 

“The district system can stay,” Cato says. “We’re going to need all the materials that we can get. I think we’ll be alright as long as there is no Capitol to lord over us.”

 

“I still think you two should take a break from all that political talk and have a bite of bread.”

 

Peeta’s trudging towards them, still struggling with the use of his artificial limb. They’d amputated his severely injured leg after the Hunger Games, which meant that he had been forced to re-enter the arena for the Quarter Quell with that handicap. It didn’t seem to bother Gale, though; it gives him more opportunities to touch Peeta.

 

“Didn’t I tell you to wait for me at home?” Gale admonishes him gently “You could hurt yourself here.”

 

“And what, leave you to starve?” Peeta shoots back. “I don’t think so, Mister Hawthorne. Besides, Rory wanted to go out for some air, so I obliged him.”

 

“No wonder he’s so in love with you,” Cato says with a grin. “Hawthorne here is a sucker for people who are good with kids—especially his.”

 

Gale makes a face, but Cato knows it’s his way of acknowledging the truth. Peeta’s really good with that caring-for-people thing he does all the time, which is a good contrast with Gale’s horrid temper.

 

“She’ll be back, Cato.” Peeta turns to him. “She misses you, you know? I think she purposely isolated herself so you would come looking for her. She wants to be found—she just doesn’t know how to say it.”

 

Cato exhales sharply. “I didn’t want to intrude on her. I respect her too much to do so.”

 

“But you love her,” Peeta says simply. “And that’s what matters most.”

 

“You drive a hard bargain, Peeta Mellark,” Cato remarks. “Hawthorne, you’re on a leash here.”

 

“Can’t say I’m complaining,” Gale smirks. “I’m not the one who’s tied up in bed.”

 

“Leave your kinks out of our conversations!” Cato rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anyway, are you up for a pint or two after our shift? God knows I need one.”

 

“When did I ever say no to a beer?” Gale asks. “I’m all for it—we’d drink the afternoon away if we could.”

 

“No, sir, you will not,” Peeta says pleasantly. “I will see to that.”

 

Gale grabs him by the waist to plant a kiss on his mouth. Cato thinks that if Peeta could swoon, he would be doing so right now. “I love you, baker boy. I really, really do.”

 

Their little exchange makes Cato think of Katniss. He hasn’t seen her since thirteen; he had not gone with them to infiltrate the Capitol because someone had to stay behind and keep watch. Gale had been the one to tell him the story of how she had chosen to shoot Coin instead of Snow.

 

“You think she’ll be angry at me because I chose not to speak to her until she decided to come back?”

 

Gale looks contrite. “I’ve known her forever, Cato; she’ll appreciate that.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Katniss’ arrival at their makeshift quarters is uneventful. The people who know her are respectful enough to know that she doesn’t enjoy talking about such things, so they merely nod or smile at her in greeting the moment she enters the room. Cato, who is busy cleaning an old rifle he found at the site, is surprised when she chooses to sit next to him. He sits there and waits for the punch, but it never comes.

 

“I was half expecting you to hit me.”

 

“I actually wanted to,” Katniss says quietly. “You knew where I was, but you didn’t come to see me.”

 

Cato polishes the barrel of the gun. “I wanted to give you time to think. Sometimes, it isn’t the best idea to have company when you’re fucking angry with the universe.”

 

“That’s true,” she concedes, “but sometimes, I need to be dragged out of my house kicking and screaming. Haymitch says that I’m so stubborn that it’s the only way to convince me of my wrongs.”

 

“I’ll remember that for next time,” he says with a small smile. “But really, how are you, Kat?”

 

“I feel like shit,” she admits. “I felt like shit before this, and I still feel like shit after. Maybe the feeling will go away with time, but I’m not in a hurry.”

 

“That’s good,” he says. “You’ve got to allow yourself to ease out of it; that’s how it works.”

 

Katniss snorts. “Since when have you become so introspective?”

 

“Since everything,” Cato responds. “I’ve had a lot of time to think. I’m just really all for progress now; I no longer feel the need to lash out in anger at an entity that no longer exists. I’m tired of being angry.”

 

“I am, too,” she says hollowly. “I was a mess after Coin; I practically upended our home in Victor’s Village—it was amazing how Mom let me destroy whatever it is I wanted to destroy. When I was done, I just sat there amidst the mess and cried my heart out. I instantly felt better after.”

 

“How is she?” Cato asks quietly. “I mean, after Prim…”

 

He lets his voice trail off. He knows how much Katniss loved her little sister.

 

“She’s holding up much better than I am,” Katniss replies. “She went into a dark place after my Dad died, but for some reason, she knew that I was going to go into the same dark place after losing Prim. This time, she’s the strong one.”

 

“Don’t be angry at Gale,” Cato says. “He was thinking like a solder during the rebellion—we all were. Just because the bombs were his idea doesn’t mean that it’s his bomb that killed her. Don’t be angry.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Besides, Peeta’s so in love with him,” Cato continues. “You’ve always gotten on well with the both of them. We’ve lost so many people, Kat; we have to mend and keep our relationships with those who are left. I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever known before the Games, so I’m holding on to you guys as much as I can.”

 

“Enobaria’s still alive,” Katniss points out with a grim smile.

 

“I never cared much for her,” Cato scoffs. “I’ve always felt she was more than a little insane. Maybe this is why Brutus refused to let me volunteer for the Quarter Quell; he must have known that she would want to kill me after the stunt we pulled during the Games. I can’t help but wish he hadn’t died with the rest of them; he wasn’t exactly family, but he kept me alive.”

 

“Will you ever go back to two when everything is in order?”

 

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “It’s a decent idea, though. Gale has full intentions of moving to two to get a decent job after the restoration. He and Peeta have already agreed to go together; they want a better life for the baby, too.”

 

“I always knew that Gale was bound to make a good father,” Katniss says softly. “He’s always been so good with his siblings.”

 

Cato remembers the night District 12 was bombed. They had been running around surveying the area for survivors when he had stumbled upon a very pregnant Madge Undersee, who told him that the baby was Gale’s. Cato and Peeta had been unable to save her, but they had managed to save the baby.

 

“What about you, Kat?” he asks her. “What will you do?”

 

“…can I just stay with you?” she asks, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You’re the only one I can picture spending the rest of my life with because you’ve seen me at my worst.”

 

Cato is amused. “Is this your way of telling me you love me?”

 

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” Katniss sounds cross.

 

“Not really,” he replies. “But I want to say it. I love you, Katniss.”

 

They sit in silence for awhile. Cato takes the time to survey what’s going on around him. Peeta’s sitting in an old, rickety chair, cooing softly to the baby in his arms—they had decided on naming him Seneca after Cato’s half-brother—while Gale looks on with pride. He can’t see them, but he knows Finnick, Johanna, Haymitch and Beetee are somewhere in the building. Just knowing that they’re alive and that they’re there puts him at ease. And somewhere, all around him, the remaining citizens of Panem are resting for the night, full of hope that someday, they’ll be able to build a better society and make better lives for themselves.

 

“Shall we go to bed?” he asks her.

 

Instead, she slips her hand into his. “I love you.”

 

Cato brushes his lips against hers—once, twice—before leaning in for an actual kiss. “There, now that wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it?”

 

“Wanker,” she teases him. “But yes, you may take me to bed now.”

 

Cato laughs. Hope sure is a contagious thing.


End file.
